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Isabella F. Darling. 





Glasgow : 

Hay Nibbet & Co., Printkrs, 

25 Jamaica Street. 



jfatbet anJ> /IDotber, 






(Tbe Butbot. 



A Certain Rich Man — Part I., 
Do, do. Part II., 

A Penny, 

Triumphs of Thought, 
Kind Hearts, . . . . " 

A Farewell, .. 
Withered Leaves, 
Wild Flowers— A Cry from the Children 
The Sisters' Strife, .. 
The Cottage on the Moor, .. 

J\ XxERO| • m • • ••• 

City Lights, .. 
Lost and Found, 
Life's Archery, 
A Thankful Heart, .. 
Old King Care, 
The Boys are Away, . . 
"Restored," .. 
The City Sabbath, 
The Motherless Babe, 

s Hospital, 












6 Contents. 


Morning IN THE City, .. .. .. .. 66 

Little Jim, . . . . . . 68 

Grandmother's TREASURE'S, .. .. .. .. 71 

Little Things, .. .. .. .. 74 

•The TooM Fire-En'.", .. .. .. 76 

Bring THEM Home, .. .. .. 79 

The Parrot's Lament, .. .. Si 

The Bairnie, 84 

•• Never Fear," . . . . . . 86 

The Agnostic, . . . . . . . . 88 

The Picture on the Wall, . . . . . . . . 90 

Life's Echoes, .. .. .. .. .. 93 

"Going Home," .. .. .. .. .. .. 94 

Sacred and Secular, . . . . . . . . . . 96 

Shut Out— A Poem for Juvenile Readers, . . . . . . 99 

*'OoR Am Soiree," .. .. .. .. .. •• 102 

Catherine, .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 104 

Queen Victoria's Resolve, .. .. .. .. 106 

The Silent Child, . . . . . . . . . • . • 108 

The Grand Jubilee, .. .. .. .. ••• no 

Nobody's Darling — A Parody, .. .. 112 

Grandfather's Cottage, .. .. .. .. .. 114 

The Violin Old, .. .. .. .. .. 116 

Eleanor, .. .. .. .. .. •• •• 118 

Grizell Cochrane, .. .. .. .. .. .. ■. 120 

The Fall of the Year, .. .. .. .. ., .. 123 

The Afflicted Child, .. .. . 125 

Farewell TO the City, .. .. .. .. .. 128 



Home, .. .. .•. .. s. 


Out of the Shadow, . . 

1 3a 

Scotia, Mountainland, 


The AuLD Ayr New, .. 


The Laddie I Loe, 


Football Song, 


X RUT^Hf •• •• •• •• •• • 


Britain's Address to the Colonies, 


The Anvil Song, 


The Scotchman Abroad, 


The Song ok the Stove, 


"Faither's Comin' In,' 


The Northern Whaler, 


The Heroine OF Home, 




Love's Empire, 


Scottish Home- Lights, 


The Wee Lost Laddie, 


The Boys' Brigade, .. 


Formality, .. 




Experience, .. 


Love, . . 



.. 185 

Character, .. 









Illusion, ' 

Only, . . 


** Mystery," 

Day, . . 

Sympathy, ' 

"Thoughts of God,".. 

lMMANUEL-(God with Us), 

iVl Y XT OMi!*! •• ••• •• •• •• •• •• , 

She hath Done what She Could, .. 

"Master, is it I?" .. .. .. .. .. 

Thoughts Framed in Shadow, 

The Lord will Provide, 

Lines in loving memory of a Young Poetess, J. J. M L., .. 

•'Perfect Peace," 

I Want to re an Angel, 

Love's Bounty, .. .. 

X rIS \-*W»i y •• •■ •• •• •• •« •• • 

Redemption, .. 

Lines in loving remembrance of Mr. Hugh Ramsay, Melbourne. 
In Memoriam— Eleanor Anderson Darling, 
. Birthday Thoughts, .. -. .. .. .. .. 










fart I. 

'Tis Christmas Eve, the city lights blink low, 
And bitter gusts disperse the powdered snow. 
While on his couch the Merchant Prince reclines. 
His lofty eyes dilating o'er his wines. 
Thus musing, he discoursed in vaunting strains 
Of acres, talents, factories, and gains. 
" I have much store laid past in safest keeping, 
My merchant ships are on the billows sweeping. 
My bams are full, my acres green and broad. 
My table groans beneath its sumptuous load ; 
Like golden dreams my prosperous years have fled, 
Now gleaming Hakes of silver fleck my head. 
Their mellow light is like a halo o'er me, 
Methinks a brilliant future lies before me. 
With fawning friends ,and flatterers I'm surrounded. 
With gifts and public honours quite confounded. 

10 Poems and Songs, 

Esteemed by those we term the upper ten, 

And legislating for my fellow-men. 

The soul that loves not honour I deride," — 

( Voice,) 

" You always land upon the winning side/' 


" Was that a voice or echo from the tomb ? 
Pshaw ! 'tis a dream — there's no one in the room ; 
My name is quite familiar to the people, 
(I gave a handsome sum to build a steeple). 
At court, how often do I intercede 
For needy souls ; the humble poor I feed. 
For widows' portions, which the world devours. 
My tears well up and fall in crystal showers, — 
Forth to the needy have I stretched my hands,''^- 

( Voice,) 

** To get the rental for your huts and lands." 


" Ah ! ha 1 methinks that voice is not of earth, — 
» Such sounds in wine or fancy have their birth ; 
My mind is broad, my charity extensive," — 

( Voice,) 

" Your love is very great, but not expensive." 

A Certain Rich Man. ii 

(Merchant^ wraihfully.) 

" Pray ! who is this with manners bold and rude, 
That dares upon my privacy intrude ? " 

( Voice,) 

'* Be calm," exclaimed a voice in hollow tone, 
*' I bear a message (or your ear alone." 


" And who are you, another poor relation ? " 

( Voice.) I 

*' My business, sir, ahem ! is sequestratioa" 


" Ha ! ha ! you're surely mad ! What! sequestration ? 

Your conduct, sir, demands an explanation ; 

I verily believe the man's demented, 

I never was more prosperous and contented." 


** Pray, don't be fast, nor look so much offended, 
In solemn truth, your happiness is ended. 
No power on earth can strengthen your position. 
Your whole affairs are in a sad condition." 


** Your voice and dark forebodings make me shiver ; 
My business, sir, is flourisning as ever — 

12 Poems and Songs, 

My vessels all as safe as they were moored ; 
My houses, lands, and life, are all insured." 

(Enter Death.) 

" Ah, these will never profit you a penny, 
'Tis of your soul I speak, — if you have any." 

(Merchant, trembling.) 

" I know thee now, thou dread and solemn guest, 

Lay not thine icy fingers on my breast ; 

My soul, alas ! is burdened sore with debt ; 

But pray, forgive me, if I did forget ; 

For, 'mid the care and turmoil of the day, 

I sometimes prayed, — for I was taught to pray," — 


'* That Heaven might bless the thirsty ground youVe 

And make the labourer with his hire contented. 
But hark ! your numerous creditors are here, — 
Prepare yourself, the first shall now appear." 


'* I'm not prepared for such an early call ; 
Oh ! give me time, and I will pay you all." 

A Certain Rich Man, 13 

.,, , , \ Enter First Creditor, 


'' Methinks some spirit haunts these silent walls ; 
A mellow voice life's rosy morn recalls ; 
'Mid sheltering hills, and broad fields robed in corn, 
I see the humble cot where I was bom 3 
• I hear the cry of plovers on the wing, 
I see the gate where oft we used to swing, 
The woods and crannies where we roamed in quest 
Of berries, or the wild bird's secret nest 
I know that voice, I knew it when a child, 
It lulled my sleep, and all my fears beguiled. 
Is it my mother's ? that fair hand which strokes 
With mild caress my thin and aged locks ? " 


" The same fond hand that rocked your cradle bed, 
Nor weary grew when childhood's years had fled. 
That sewed and spun, and kept the hearth so bright 
When storm-kings revelled in the wintry night. 
Piled up the faggots, trimmed the lamp with oil 
To light your footsteps home from school or toil ; 
Whose magic touch made worn-out garments new. 
While o'er the seams her nimble fingers flew ; 
Who soothed your sickness, and your pain relieved, 
Joyed in your joy, and wept when you were grieved." 


14 Poems and Songs, 


** My mother ! from the drooping willow shade ; 

Love ! thy labour has been ill repaid." 


** Twere vain to calculate the full amount, 
Another waits you with a large account." ' 

\Enter Second Creditor, 

*^ I hear a voice, a dear familiar tone, 

Rolled back immortal from the years long gone ; 

1 see the woods in autumn glory drest. 
Yon fiery sun glow crimson in the west, 
The mighty hills in solemn grandeur frown, 
Pure wintry snows their soaring summits crown." 


" Thy father's farewell words rememberest thou ? " 

(Merchant, ) 

" Though silent long, I hear that calm voice now 

Call me to mark the yellow leaflets, dead, 

Drop softly from the branches overhead. 

* Behold,' he said, ' how swift the leaves decay ; 

Like flowers we bloom, like flowerets pass away ; 

As leaflets fade, so fadeth earthly joy, — 

O now remember thou thy God, my boy ! ' " 


A Certain Rich Matu 15 


*' Who stopped to join thee in thy childish glee, 

With rough brown hands which spared no toil for thee ; 

Who oft with parent joy your locks caressed, 

And thus ii^ blessing only could be blest !- 

Who taught thee to distinguish right from wrong ? " 

(Merchant ) 

" That princely heart, so gentle and so strong." 


" Is all his toil, his ceaseless love, in vain ? " 


** Behold the prisoner drag his golden chain. 
Forged from the fires of shame, the widow's sighs, 
The poor man's curses, and the children's cries." 


"'Twere vain to pay for all these hands have given ; 
What tribute did'st thou give in hope of Heaven ? 
Gold from thy well-stocked coffers to assuage 
The bitter ills of poverty and age ? '' 


" Alas ! grown greedy in the search for gold, 
My luke-warm heart grew chill, then icy cold ; 
As prosperous years my stores of wealth increased, 
Communications dwindled fast, then ceased : 

1 6 Poems and Songs, 

Fray let me now to justice be assigned? • 
But leave, oh ! leave, my creditors behind." 


" No time hast thou for penitential tears, — 
Behold ! another creditor appears." 

\Enter Third Creditor, 

'* This morn was mine, I lived or dreamed it past ; 

I saw that vessel with her stately mast ; 

Yon sullen arch, with boulders strong and dark ; 

The inky waves that lave the lumbering bark. 

Again the city s^ghs, through weeping rains 

I hear the whirr of wheels, the clank of chains, 

The shout of mariners, and wailing cry 

Of sundering hearts, that weep a long good-bye." 


" I see a youth, and maiden by his side." 


" I loved her, wooed, and sought her for my bride." 


" Her face is pale, and drooping like a flower." 



" Her roses faded at the parting hour." 

A Certain Rich Man, 17 


" This maiden's cause let higher courts defend, 
For debt can scarce its meaning comprehend." 


" The vessel steers adown the murky river, 

Some hands unclasp for years, and some for ever/' 

[Enter Fourth Creditor, 

" A stalwart form above the crowd appears ; , 

He smiles, he pales, and turns to hide his tears.'' 


*' Ah ! 'tis my brother, generous and true, — 
He comes to wave a fond and last adieu." 


" Who led thee, as the wild goat leads her kid. 
Along the clefts where chasms deep lie hid ? 
Who climbed, where rocks precipitous o'erhung, 
Showing thee where the wild-bird hatched her young ? 
Who knew where hazel nuts and apples grew, 
And rode the topmost bough, if there were two ; 
Or if wild sloes or brambles were the fare. 
Though stint the spoil, thou had'st the larger share?" 


" How often have his nimble fingers wrought 
The tedious sum, that baffled all my thought ! 

1 3 Poems and Songs, 

The braggart fled when in ofFenided mood, 
His hands were raised in hostile attitude. 
He taught me how to skate, to fence, to swim, 
And everything I tried to do like Jim." 


" And had'st thou but a little harder tried. 
Thou would'st not thus in beggary have died 
With- debt accumulating at thy door. 
Alas ! would this were all, but still there's more." 


" This room is mine, a sombre grandeur falls 
Across the gilded panels of its walls." 


" Know'st thou that man, whose restless spirit pines 
'Mid fruits and vases, growing flowers, and vines ? '* 


*' I dreamt I lived this night, that it was o*er, — 
Dreamed it had left me to return no more ; 
I knew that manly form, though plainly clad, — • 
These searching eyes, so beautiful and sad. 
My heart beat high, mine eyes grew strangely dim, 
I clasped his hands., and cried,- — My brother Jim ! 
Ah ! then I learned my parents were no more. 
Their task accomplished, and their warfare o'er. 

A Certain Rich Man, lO 

Sole comfort of their age, and solace, — He 

Their dying counsel brought me o'er the sea. 

I wept aloud, but soon my tears were shed, 

My heart was heavy, and as cold as lead. 

He said another bade him bring this note ; 

Who wondered if I lived, yet never wrote. 

I took it trembling, 'twas from Annie's hand, — 

The hand I plighted in my native land. 

I turned to read it, — ' Love hath made me bold. 

Or am I jealous of the charm of gold ? 

These weary months I waited, watched, and wept, 

And in the midnight calm, while others slept. 

Have called the stars to judge betwixt us two, 

If I have loved, and vowed, and not been true, — 

The solemn stars, that twinkled in the sky, 

And gazed upon us, like God's holy eye, 

When thou saidst, — ** Heaven be witness of this 

vow ! " 
And pressed the last fond kiss upon my brow/ 
I stood condemned, and, censured by my heart, 
For had I not resolved that we must part." 


" Thou wast a gallant lover, true and bold, 
To offer this last sacrifice to gold, 
This gentle maiden, lover of thy youth. 
The gem of beauty, and the soul of truth. 
Her love to win, then spurn in cold disdain. 
Whom many wooers long had sought in vain, 

20 Poems and Songs. 

What wonder if thy brother paled with rage, 
For he could read thee like an open page." 


'' I said that times and circumstances changed, 
And hearts that fondly loved became estranged, 
And were my lines among the lowly cast, 
This love had all my loftiest dreams surpassed. 
I then besought my brother if he would 
Break her the news as gently as he could. 
Nay, cried he, 'tis but work for him alone 
Who chipped it from his cruel heart of stone. 
Let him go forth, as Indian hunter hies, 
To mark his prey before the arrow flies. 
God keep me poor, indeed, and meanly dress'd, 
But leave a human heart withitf my breast 
Oh fool ! I cried, while passion choked my voice, 
Dost thou refuse me this ? then take thy choice ; 
Begone 1 nor ever cross my threshold o'er ; 
Be friendless, homeless, on a foreign shore." 


" Knowest thou such fools above the stars shall shine, 
When hell is filled with wisdom such as thine?" 


" My God, these eyes look backward from that nighl. 
Reproachful tears bedim their lustrous light. 

A Certain Rich Man. 21 

That look of pained surprise and mingled woe 
Still holds me fast, and will not let me go. 
I lived in wealth, yet scarce could wealth endure ; 
T lived to learn that Love had left me poor ; 
I woke to find the world of light bereaved, 
Deceit, long practiced, had myself deceived. 
As morning beams transcend the brightest star. 
Wealth, fame, are great, but love is greater far. 
My soul was lashed to fury, like the deep 
When wrathfuUy her mighty waters sweep. 
And ridged with foam, as bitter as the sea, 
Beat helplessly against God's fixed decree." 

, _ , \ Enter a Host of Creditors, 

(Death,) ^ -^ 

These all are past, but there are many more, — 
A ghastly crowd in countless columns, pour, — 
Gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes, a heaving sea, 
And lo ! they have no fear — none even of me ! " 


" Oh, misery ! why longer lend me breath ? 

I'd rather be alone with thee, O Death : 

These are my factory men, whose lives I sold, 

And pinched and toiled, and starved for love of gold ; 

These helpless children haunt me with their cries. 

They gaze upon me with their hollow eyes. 

Take all I have of wealth when I am dead, 

And give it that the children may have bread." 

22 Poems and Songs. 

(Death ) [Enter the Head Creditor, 

" Prepare thyself, another waits thee still, — 
The Creditor who holds the largest bill, — 
Your factories, your riches, house, and lands, 
Your soul and body, sir, are in His hands/' 


" Oh ! that yon mountains, towering to the skies, 
Would fall and hide me from my Maker's eyes ; 
Or bury me beneath the ocean spray. 
And let the billows cover me for aye." 

( Voice,) 

" Arise ! thy soul is free from this great load. 
The debt no longer stands twixt thee and God ; 
A Stranger came, who, grieved to see thy fall, 
Affixed His isignature, and paid it all." 


*' A white robed seraph from the heavenly choir. 
To bind the sinner for eternal fire ? " 

( Voice,) 

" Nay ; 'lis a Friend who gave His life to save 
From pain and death more cruel than the grave : 
His mien, though wondrous mild, bespoke command, 
And when He signed, I saw a pierced hand : 

A Certain Rich Man, 23 

He came to seek the lost ones far astray, — 
This Christmas light returns His natal day, — 
And still o'er the earth a hallowed radiance flings 
Since first was heard the rush of angel wings." 


"Oh draw aside the curtain of long years, 
And let me wash His feet with all these tears. 
Must language leave for ever unexpress'd 
The gratitude that throbs within my breast ? " 

( Voice.) 

"Strike ! strike, the harp, let mirth and joy abound, 
For this my son was lost, and now is found." 


" Lo ! have I but been dreaming all the night? 
Behold ! 'tis morn, and earth lies robed in white,- 
A dream, yet not a dream, for God is good ; 
How shall I pay to Him my gratitude ? " 

24 Poems and Songs. 


I touch a chord that has been silent long, 

While minor tones have thrilled the minstreFs ear ; 

How seldom, in the ministry of song 
We hear its tender pathos, sweet and clear — 

Father ! the name which countless hearts revere ; 

Oh ! could I sing, that all the world might hear ? 

Ye lights, that glimmer from a thousand homes, 
Like constellations, in the gathering night. 

Shine out, and guide his steps, where'er he roams ; 
Ye maidens, let the hearth be warm and bright. 

Ye children, shout him welcomes, with delight — 

Press his cold hands with chubby fingers white. 

Ye weary mothers, don your bright attire. 
Adorn your locks as in the days long flown ; 

Recall how oft he lingered, to admire 
These braided coils, nor ever blush to own 

That their adorning was for him alone. 

And love shall lend thee roses, never blown. 

For smiles, like sunbeams, scatter clouds of care. 
And hearts grow weary, should their beams delay. 

Tis love alone that lights the load we bear, 
That gladdens youth; and in life's twilight grey 

Twill cheer him onward through the toilsome day, 

Strong for the field and mighty in the fray. 

Father, 25 

O children, who have known a father's care, 
Whose pattering feet are music in his ear, 

Whose names are mingled in his evening prayer, 
Who ever view, with reverence and fear, 

The hands that toil through each successive yestr. 

Your lives to gladden and your homes to cheer. 

Would ye have length of life that knows no lease ? 

Would ye have honours such as angels claim ? 
Would ye have lasting joy, and holy peace? 

List ! • while he warns you from the paths of shame. 
Where justice wields her flashing sword of flame; 
And honour here on earth, thy father's name. 

As years increase let love increasing rise : 

When time has streaked his raven locks with grey. 

Oh ! be his strength in weakness ; nor despise 
The counsels that were taught in childhood's day ; 

But as he stooped to join thee in thy play. 

Bend now thine ear, nor scornful turn away. 

Father Divine, Thou knowest all the care 
With which thy children are encompassed round ; 

Oh ! guide the fathers here and everywhere. 
What Thou hast joined on earth, in heaven is bound ; 

With love and joy and peace their homes surround, 

Till Thy ** Well done " their toilsome years have crowned. 

26 Poems and Songs, 


" Queen of home/' I'll sing of thee, 
Sound thy fame o'er land and sea, 
Mother — sweetest, dearest name, 
First that infant lips can frame ; 
Ever down the crowded street, 
Hark ! those voices softly falling, 
Mingling with the rush of feet, 
" Mother ! " — 'tis the children calling ! 

'* Queen of home," how well they know 
All the bliss thy hands bestow ; 
Mother's hands, how soft they are. 
They alone may bind the scar ; 
Children seek her faithful breast ; 
Weary, they have left their playing. 
When the sunset gilds the west. 
Mother hears the children praying. 

" Queen of home," when youth and maid 

Seek for counsel in the shade. 

Whispering in her willing ear, 

Happy still if she is near ; 

See her sons to manhood grown, 

Home at evening quickly wending, 

Voices deep and baritone; 

Mother ! hear them sweetly blending. 

Mother, 27 

** Queen of home," how kind and meek ! 

When the rose fades from the cheek, 

Tenderly her fingers fair 

Stroke the sufferer's scattered hair ; 

Who till death stands bravely by. 

Weeping, waiting love's last token. 

Ere the trembling spirit fly ? 

" Mother ! " is the last word spoken. 

** Queen of home," these locks of thine 

Silver fast in life's decline. 

Like the^n's mild lambent light, 

Ere he vanishes from sight ; 

Guard her, sons, she may not stay — 

Daughters ! 'tis the angels calling ; 

Say it gently, tenderly, 

Mother, while the shades are falling 

*' Queen of home," thine empire lies 
In the light of loving eyes, 
In the spirit's deep recess 
There 'tis vast and limitless. 
Who shall estimate below % 
Life for love so freely given ; 
When the crowns of earth lie low, 
Mother, thine shall be in heaven ! 

28 Poems and Songs. 


Fair, kingly boy, what pleasure true 
Hath lit thine eyes of dreamy blue ? 
Come here and take it, little Hugh — 

A penny. 

Though toys and playmates all be gone. 
No king so rich upon his throne 
When thou canst justly call thine own 

A penny ! 

No more wilt thou mamma annoy, 
For thou hast gained, triumphant boy, 
Thy hope, thy light, thy pride, thy joy — 

A penny. 

When sparkle on thy rosy cheek 
The tears of sorrow, thou wilt seek, 
In quivering accents, low and meek, 

A penny. 

Thy treasure gained — exultant fly ! 

" What means that shout ?" we wondering cry. 

And swift the echoing walls reply — 

** A penny !" 

A Penny, 29 

Thy friends all know what best will please — 
That suppliant look the stranger sees — 
No need to ask, with eyes like these, 

A penny. 

Why should I be surprised to see 
So small a trophy cause such glee ? 
Tis no small thing, dear boy, to thee — 

A penny ! 

In every loss a solid gain, 

A bow of sunlight 'mid the rain, 

A healing balm for every pain — 

A penny. 

What mystic influence hath shed 
Such blissful visions round his bed ? 
Ah ! he has laid beneath his head 

A penny I 

30 Poems and Songs, 


I TREAD through boundless space, 

I float on mystic air, 
My footsteps, who can trace? 

I'm here and anywhere. 
I fear no foe — above, below — 

Swift as a dream I fly, 
A thousand years a day appears 

In the light of my fearless eye. 

Over the surging sea. 

Like a winged bird I soar. 
When billows leap with glee, 

Retreating from the shore. 
Fair 'neath my glance, in broad expanse. 

Lie earth and ocean deep ; 
Through prison bars I count the stars 

When the soft dews at midnight weep. 

I hold their impress deep. 

Seas, mountains, in a grasp ; 
Streams, hills, and valleys sleep 

'Twixt memory's golden clasp. 
Yet, break the seal, I can reveal 

The living picture here — 
A flower, a brook, a shady nook, 

And the light of a long lost year. 

Trimnphs of Thought, 31 

A face you loved and missed, 

An old familiar song, 
A tiny hand you kissed, 

A step you waited long ; 
A whisper low, a sunset glow, 

A look, a tear, a sigh. 
Gleaned from the past, I bind them fast, 

And I know they shall never die. 

I sound the notes that wake 

Strange echoes as they roll ;' * 

I touch the chords that shake 

A world from pole to pole : 
The ships that pour on every shore 

Their freight of countless gain, 
Through wind and tide their course I guide 

On the tread of the heaving main. 

I rise o'er woe and pain, 

I mount a'er sin and care, 
I sunder Death's strong chain 

From prisoners of Despair ; 
Far o'er earth's wrongs, where ransomed songs 

From choirs celestial pour, 
I hear the beat of angel feet 

Sound through the gleaming corridor. 

32 Poems and Songs. 


Kjnd hearts are oft so sensitive, 
So finely strung, so sweetly tuned, 

Too truly living, here to live, 
Alive to feel the slightest wound. 

As flowerets when the tempests near ' 
Wrap all their petals round their form, 

Acute they feel before they hear 
The rushing of the brooding storm. 

With lightning speed their eagle glance 
Observes a shadow in the eye. 

Ere frowns proclaim the storm's advance, 
Or words bespeak its thunders nigh. 

Yet do they envy those who hold 

Their hearts secure from every shock. 

While round them sin and woe have rolled, 
Like waves against the solid rock. 

To love and joy and pity lost, 

In self imprisoned, walled in stone. 
Who never o'er their threshold crossed 
To weep for sorrows not their own. 

Kind Hearts. 33 

Kind hearts, who hold impresssions deep, 

Your vast possessions lie within ; 
For only those who love can weep — 

Your power to lose is power to win. 

Majestic thought ! sublimely high. 
Even here to touch our Maker's hand ; 

To read the language of the eye. 

And sound the heart, divjnely planned. 

His wealth to own, His love to share, 
Where God has sown, to rise and reap — 

To feel His joy, to bear His care, 
With God to lose, with God to weep. 

Go shed thy love-beams o'er the earth, 

Nor turn to hide the pitying tear, 
That most bespeaks thy heavenly birth, 

And sheds the light of heaven here. 

34 Poems and Songs. 


Hands clasp hands by the river deep, 
One long look on a dear pale face ; 

Hearts hold tears, they cannot weep ; 
Lips are pressed in a long embrace. 

Adieu ! adieu ! the ship sails far, 

Hark ! the shout of the mariner. 

The rain beats fast, the sad winds sigh. 

And they sail away 'neath the lowering sky. 

Eyes gaze long through the mist and rain, 

Follow the vessel far away ; 
Hearts benumbed by a weight of pain, 

Know not all they have lost to-day ; 
Lost o'er the ocean many a mile, 
Lost, a voice, and a sunny smile. 
Hands unclasping by the river, 
Some for years, and some for ever. 

Songs of memory, ringing clear, 
Sing of home in a distant clime, 

Show a hand, a smile, a tear, 

Perfect, free from the blight of time ; 

Dreams, vain dreams, they vanish all — 

Flit like day when the shadows fall, 

Thoughts like billows intervene, 

Murmuring ocean rolls between. 

A Farewell, 35 

Old landmarks fade away so fast, 

Home is dearer when far behind ; 
Old ties, despite the wildest blast, 

Laugh at waters and mock the wind ; 
Hope soars high o'er the vale of tears, 
Love glows bright from the gloom of years, 
Hands unclasped are clasped for you. 
Angels guard thee, adieu ! adieu ! 

36 • Poems and Songs, 


Summer glories all are past, 

Flowers have silently declined, 
Withered leaves are falling fast, 

Fluttering in the waking wind. 
Autumn, smiling, brings to all 

Stores of vintage, golden sheaves ; 
Leaves are falling, let them fall, 

They are only withered leaves. 

Can we mourn their swift decay. 

As in yellow wreaths they lie ; 
By the bleak winds borne away ? 

They are deathless if they die. 
Brooding summers guard their tomb, 

Blossoms for a thousand springs 
Yet shall issue from the gloom. 

Bloom and beat their mighty wings. 

Thus have towering hopes been laid 

Low as leaves that round us lie, 
Joys have flourished but to fade, 

Friendship blossomed but to die. 
Like false hearts we learned to know. 

Which adversity has proved ; 
When they're going, let them go. 

We shall not be greatly moved. 

WitJiered Leaves, 37 

Hark ! the stormy tempests blow, 

Hoar-frost decks the window-pane, 
Winter comes with frost and snow, 

Deeply veiled in mist and rain ; 
Shadows herald gathering night, 

Sombre hosts invade the sky — 
Welcome to the home hearth's light. 

Pile the blazing fagots high ! 

Deeper joys from ashes spring. 

Beauty from the dust is born ; 
Brighter hopes shall soar and sing 

On their resurrection morn. 
All things fade beneath the sky, 

Still on withered leaves we tread ; 
When they're dying, let them die, 

We shall live when they are dead. 

38 Poems and Songs, 



Bring flowers, the wealth of the wild, 

O, children whose young limbs are strong ; 
The breeze from the mountain is mild. 
The June days are sunny and long, 
Your faces are brown with the sun, 

But ours are so wan and so white ; 
You never are tired when you run. 
And we're weary long ere it is night. 
Oh, health is a treasure untold, ' 

Unknown to the millions who seek ; 
Far better than silver or gold 
Is the rose for a delicate cheek. 

Oh ! could we but wander at will 

In glooms wliere the violets are born, 
Where the stream ripples down from the hill. 

And the wild rose expands on the thorn. 
Though 'twere only to listen one hour 

To the song of the birds 'mid the eaves. 
Or pluck from the meadow one flower 

Sweet nestling among the green leaves. 
Oh, health is a treasure, &c. 

Bring flowers, the wealth of the wild : 
Go, gather them everywhere ; 

Wild Flowers. , 39 

And oft by their sweetness beguiled, 

Our paiq, we'll more patiently bear ; 
For the Heavenly Gard'ner will tend 

His flowers that are drooping to die ; 
And the love of a Heavenly Friend 

Will waft each frail heart to the sky. 
Oh, health is a treasure, &c. 

Oh ! bring us bright flowers and pale, 

And think of the pleasure they bring ; 
For we, like their petals, are frail. 

But bent in the blast of the spring. 
Thy flowerets, if gathered in love. 

Though swift they may seem to decay, 
■ In gardens of glory above 

Will blossom and flourish for aye. 
Oh, health is a treasure, &c. 

Then, sell not thy treasure of health, 

Nor barter what gold cannot buy, 
Nor give it for pleasure or wealth — 

Without it they dwindle and die ; 
But guard it, and life will be bright, 

And, glowing, go down like the sun ; 
When duty accomplished with might 

WiU echo the Master's *' Well done !" ^ 
Oh, health is a treasure, &c. 

40 Poems and Songs. 


How can we not agree ? 

It seems so strange to me 

That I should strive with thee, Jemima ! 

Yet stranger to divine 

Whether the fault be thine, 

Since all thy faults are mine, Jemima ! 

I well may grant thee grace 

When in thy childish face 

My former self 1 trace, Jemima ! 

In romping moods or calm. 
How like thyself I am — 
A lion or a lamb — Jemima ! 

Thy baby tears I scorn — 

Plenteous as dew of morn ; 

I wept ere thou wast born, Jemima ! 

In dreams of joy and woe 
Thy measured pace and slow 
Is like my own, I know, Jemima ! 

When discord's thunders peal, 
Like lightening on the steel, 
A flash will soon reveal Jemima. 


TJie Sisters' Strife, 41 

When sisterly I scold, 

These storms of temper bold 

Are much like mine, I'm told, Jemima. 

Do'st thou indeed contest 

So trifling a request, 

Or think thy way the best, Jemima ? 

The qualities that shine — 

Unquestionably thine — 

I laud them, they are mine, Jemima. 

Though loving thee I scorn 

Some traits that self-adorn. 

What rose has not its thorn, Jemima? 

And now, our quarrel o'er. 

Since I myself adore, 

" I could not love thee more," Jemima. 

'42 Poe?ns and Songs, 


There is a lonely little cot beneath a moorland sky, 
Where oft I've watched the wild birds flock with strange and 
wailing cry : 

And still at times a wandering thought, 

Where brighter charms allure, 
Brings back that isolated spot — 
The cottage on the moor. 

Once more I see the moorland hills, the crimson heath and 

I hail the trees as dear old friends — they nod as I draw nigh ; 
I see that bush where summer cast 

Its roses sweet and pure ; 
I hear the stream that ripples past 
The cottage on the moor. 

And art thou as in days of yore ? Or need I lingering wait ? 
Will not the loved ones come once more, and meet me at 
the gate ? 

Will not the friendly voices cheer. 

And welcome kind assure ? 
Or hast thou lost what made thee dear — 
Lone cottage on the moor ? 

The Cottage on the Moor, 43 

Why need I wait ! No more on earth I'll hear their gentle 

Nor ever feel the loving hands placed softly on my head. 
Those hands, beyond life's fleeting day, 

Have found a treasure sure ; 
The voices loved are hushed for aye 
In the cottage on the moor ! 

They seem to beckon from afar; and though the path be long, 
Yet, guided still by Bethlehem's star, I'll go where they have 

By heavenly messengers upborne. 

To mansions bright and pure. 
Amid whose joys I'll cease to mourn 
The cottage on the moor. 

44 Poems and Songs. 


He wears no stars nor stripes of gold 

Amid the battle's strife ; 
Nor boasteth he, like warrior bold, 

How best to take a life ; 
With dauntless truth his glittering shield, 
He stands upon a fiercer field, 

With death and danger rife. 

No trumpets sound the battle-call. 

Where only heroes go ; 
When slanderous arrows round him fall, 

He turns to face the foe. 
He only fears the Eye above. 
If he has caused, for aught but Love, 

A single tear to flow. 

He fears the lawl^s sports that make 
The souls of men their game, 

The ranks of vice and shame shall break 
Before his steady aim ; 

He fears the cynic's poisoned dart, 

When sped to wound the weakest heart. 
Or blight the meanest fame. 

A Hero, 45 

No shouts amid his battle's din, 

Nor victor's ringing cheers, 
He holds the citadel within 

Through agonies and tears ; 
And while their thunders cease to roll, 
'Tis Heaven's approval in his soul, 

That still small voice he hears. 

'Tis thus he lives the lost to seek, 

The erring to restore, 
While trembling lips that fail to speak, 

His sweetest praises pour ; 
A lingering clasp, a tear, a smile, 
From contrite hearts that once were vile. 

Enough, Heaven asks no more. 

46 Poems and Songs. 


The mist rolls down, the day declines, 
While here I linger dreaming, 

Each son of toil his task resigns, 
And crowds are homeward teeming, 

And through the gloom in starry lines 
The city lights are gleaming. 

Above, around, dark mountains rise. 

And in the vale, far under 
This rustic seat, the city lies 

Enrapt in light and wonder ; 
From whence each jarring discord dies, 

Like peals of distant thunder. 

Now gathering clusters meet the gaze. 

Bright as a constellation. 
Ten thousand homes send forth their rays 

From every rank and station ; 
From haunts of vice they dart and blaze, 

And dens of desolation. 

O city lights, we well may deem 

A marvellous invention. 
Reflecting far, as in a dream. 

The city's vast extension. 
Ye wake strange questionings, that seem 

Too deep for comprehension. 

City Lights. 47 

While I afar your beams descry, 

Bright, glowing, and declining, 
How many smile, how many sigh. 

How many hearts are pining ; 
What thoughts, what aspirations lie 

Beneath your silent shining ! 

Oh ! there are many homes, I know, 

Lit up with merry faces, 
Where rosy lips and bright eyes glow, 

Peace dwells, and virtue graces. 
And little caps hang in a row 

In their accustomed places. 

Bright, happy homes, where fond hearts beat 
With love for one another, 


Where, by the fireside trim and neat, 

A sister, wife, or mother, 
Awaits with loving smile to greet 

The father, husband, brother. 

Ah ! these are lights, undimmed below 

Clear as a crystal river, 
Far shining through this vale of woe 

With beams that vanish never ; 
They glance and brighten as they glow 

For ever and for ever. 

4^ Poems and Songs, 

And there are briiliant lights that stream 
From many a princely dwellingy 

Where youthful pleasures reign supreme. 
All shades of gloom dispelling, 

And hearts aglow with Love's first dream 
Their mystic rapture telling. 

But oh ! how many homes are there 

By sorrow darkly shaded ; 
How many faces lined with care, 

And eyes tear-dim'd, and faded ; 
And many a life whose morn was fair 

Is blighted and degraded. 

Another fieeting day is done, 

How swift life's river fioweth ! 
How many a toiling weary one 

Each night his rest forgoeth ; 
A weary sufferer's course is run 

In yonder vale, God knoweth ! 

Now with a tongue of iron might 
The great tower clock strikes seven ; 

The hastening night clouds ridged with white 
Across the skies are driven. 

And sentinel stars are gleaming bright 
Along the brink of heaven. 

Lost and Found. 49 


Lost, from a mother's ring, 
A pearl, chaste and white ; 
So perfect 'twas, and pure, 
She deemed its setting sure. 
Amid her jewels bright — 
Lost, a pearl ! 

Lost, from a floral bower, 
A tender bud unblown, 
Last morn, when freshening showers 
Revisited the flowers — 
The flower of all was gone — 
Lost, a flower. 

Lost, the grand harmony 
That charmed an infant choir ; 
A voice whose cadence fills 
The heart with answering trills 
From Love's immortal lyre;, 
Lost, a voice ! 

Lost, a dear baby smile, 
A face of angel mould, 
Bright eyes for ever sealed. 
Which, opening, half revealed 
A love that ne'er was told. 
Lost, a smile. 

so Poems and Songs. 

Lost, from a mother's breast, 
The babe she called her own — 
Talk not of treasures great. 
For none can estimate 
Her loss but God alone — 
Lost, a babe. 

Found, on a sunny shore, 
A pearl, pure and grand ; 
Go bid her tears be dry — - 
An angel passing by — 
Along the golden sand — 

Found a pearl ; 

Found an immortal soul — 
Ring out, ye heavenly towers — 
The voice, the face, the smile, 
That mother lost awhile, 
The fairest of her flowers — 
Found in heaven. 

Lifes Archery. 51 


Merry archer, bold and strong, 
Roaming oer life's trackless way, 

Ranging through the forest long, 
Did'st thou wound a heart to-day ? 

Stay, beneath the branches high. 
Dost thou leave a tear behind ? 

Arrows glancing from the eye. 

Wake no whistling through the wind. 

Careless jest, and cynic sneer. 
Pierce like points of polished steel ; 

Oh ! 'tis cruel sport to jeer. 

Wounding hearts you cannot heal. 

In some bosom's deep recess, 
Thoughtless words forgotten long, 

Rankling, bleed without redress — 
Hidden wounds of treasured wrong. 

Archer, in this forest dark. 

Thou hast scope to prove tby skill 
Cast thine eyes abroad and mark 

Lurking vice and rampant ill. 

. 52 Poems and Songs, 

Lions fierce in quest of prey, 
Hate and malice ambushed lie; 

Silent, searching, wend your way — 
Mark, and let the arrow fly. 

Truth your arrow, burnished clear. 
Wide your range, and high your aim ; 

Bend the bow, incline the ear. 
Shoot, and win a nobler fame. 

A Thankful Heart, 53 


I N££D it more than gems or gold, 
Than luxuries which wealth unfold, 
This treasure which is never old — 
A thankful heart ; 

Than honours fame may here bequeath ; 
Than sceptre, crown, or laurel wreath ; 
Their estimate is far beneath 
A thankful heart; 

Than pleasures in variety, 
In what is termed society ; 
Than freezing forms of piety — 
A thankful heart. 

What genial lustre lights the eye, 
Reflecting earth, or sea, or sky ; 
Each seems so fair wlien mirrored by 
A thankful heart. 

The countless cares that grieve us here 
Like shadows flit and disappear ; 
How small they seem, for Heaven is near 
A thankful heart. 

54 Poems and Songs, 

Then more than wealth, oh ! give it me ! 
From discontent and envy free, 
What angel eyes delight to see — 
A thankful heart. 

For ev6ry gift kind heaven supplies, 
For health and joy our songs arise, 
Be ever shining in our eyes 
A thankful heart. 

Old King Ca7'e. 55 


How long shall this monarch reign over our world ? 
And when from his throne shall he ever be hurled? 
His cruel oppression no longer we'll bear — 
Come, let us oppose him, " Old King Care." 

The air while he passes grows heavy with sighs 
The calm light fades quickly from beautiful eyes ; 
The foreheads are furrowed that once were so fair, 
And still he is monarch, Old King Care. 

He harasses even the children at play. 

And chases both dimples and roses away ; 

He bends the broad shoulders and silvers the hair ; 

O, who would defend him. Old King Care ? 

He has blighted the sweet bloom of health with a breath. 
And songs he has hushed to the silence of death ; 
The strongest he binds with the chains of despair ; 
O, cruel, remorseless Old King Care. 

He enters bright homes that are sounding with mirth, 
And sits like a phantom of gloom by the hearth. 
Till blithe, smiling faces grow surly, and wear 
The scowl of this cankering Old King Care. 

56 Poems and Songs. 

So softly he steals, like the shadows of eve, 

And spider-like round us his cobwebs he'll weave ; 

As streams down the mountains their deep channels wear, 

He wears out the weary. Old King Care. 


But who shall rehearse all his terrible reign ? 
Or number the millions this monarch hath slain ? 
The flight of his arrows has darkened the air. 
And still he advances. Old King Care. 

Oh, haste happy dawn, when his kingdom shall fall, 
And peace, gentle peace, be the portion of all, 
When hearts ne'er shall languish or sink in despair, 
And thy crown be broken. Old King Care. 

The Boys are Away, 57 


How quiet is home this holiday time, 
There's scarcely a sound save the old clock's chime — 
A bright, sunny season like this should be gay — 
I've found out the reason — the boys are a-way. 

How silent the walls that re-echoed with mirth, 
How peacefully pussy lies stretched on the hearth ; 
No " On, Stanley, on *' wakes the echoes to-day, 
The war cry is gone, and the boys are away. 

The minnows they brought from the river are dead, 
That doleful old blackbird has never been fed ; 
" Poor captive, despairing, this meal take, and pray 
Be off for an airing — the boys are away." 

There's nothing created they might not destroy ; 
Their shows and ship building would Moses annoy ; 
Their room (such a scene !) filled me oft with dismay, 
But now how serene since the boys arejaway. 

But mother is thinking there's something not right, . 
She says that our home seems so cheerless to-night. 
Yet what is amissing ? I'm sure I can't say — 
I thought 'twas a blessing the boys were away. 

58 Poems and Songs, 

" Oh, be gentle/' she murmurs, " let love reign isupreme. 
Let love be your waking, let love be your dream. 
Lest time, all defying, may bring a sad day,' 
When we may be sighing — *the boys are away.' 

When pleasures are fading in sorrow's deep shade, 
They'll seem happy days when together you played : 
When fast fleeting years change their dark locks to grey 
Then you*ll whisper through tears — 'the boys are away.' 

How many are mourning the youthful and brave. 
While dark billows roll o'er their fathomless grave. 
Or marshalled in battle in brilliant array. 
Through death shot and rattle — their boys are away. 

Believe me, my dear, if you make up your mind, 
In future to be more forgiving and kind. 
And cease vainly fretting o'er innocent play, 
'Twill save sore regretting — when the boys are away." 

Then, oh, may we all, wheresoever we roam, 
Grow daily more meet for our heavenly home, 
Lest bright faces haunting us there make us say — 
There's something awanting — the boys are away ! 

''Restored:' 59 


Clasp, tiny hands, clasp firm and fast, 

Nor ever let me go, 
Eyes blue as heaven overcast, 

By drooping lids of snow ; 
Like lily bending in the blast, 

We rocked thee to and fro. 

I dreamt these tiny, clinging hands, 

Had loosed the gentle hold, 
Which love had bound with iron bands, 

And clasped with links of gold ; 
I saw thee drifting from the sands, 

*Midst Jordan's breakers cold. 

I did not hear the tempest's moan, 

Nor billow's stormy roar ; 
I reck'd not that I stood alone 

Upon that dreary shore, 
I only knew that thou wert gone, 

Gone to return no more. 

Ah ! who can sound the depths of woe 

When hearts are turned to stone — 
When stagnant tears refuse to flow, 

And forms we love are gone ! 
We know not — oh 1 we cannot know — 

Until we walk alone. 

6c Poems and Songs, 

To-night, in lips once marble white, 

The budding roses rise, 
We smile, and 'neath thy lashes bright 

An answering smile replies ; 
And all our darkened world grows light 

Beneath thy languid eyes. 

And looking down from Zion's tower, 
Methinks one Master mind, 

Recalling death's lone bitter hour, 
With thoughts profoundly kind, 

Is glad the angel left His flower, 
A little while behind. 

The City Sabbath, 6 1 


Bright opening buds and verdure gay 

In field and grove appear ; 
We, dwellers in the city, say 

Spring cometh never here. 

No songs her magic charms extol 
From birds upon the bough ; 

But, hark J the bells of Sabbath toll. 
I hear them ringing now. 

They sweetly sing as birds that soar, 
And louder chant their song ; 

Now from a thousand homes outpour 
A countless hastening throngs 

At earliest chime the aged sire 
Goes forth with reverend air, 

While solemn thoughts his soul inspire 
With grateful praise and prayer. 

His partner frail beside him walks, 
With gentle steps and slow ; 

Reflected in her silvery locks 
The sunbeams glance and glow. 

62 Poems and Songs, 

Here trips along the blushing maid 
With wondrous grace and ease, 

In mantle elegant arrayed, 
And curls that greet the breeze. 

The noisy schoolboy passes by, 

Nx) longer bold or rude. 
But quiet, 'neath his parents' eye, 

In meditative mood. 

The bustling housewife, free from care. 
Walks by her husband's side. 

And lovingly her children fair 
Surveys with secret pride, 

Smooths down the locks the zephyrs toss, 
Or chides their chatter gay. 

Bids loftier thoughts their minds engross, 
This holy Sabbath day. 

The soldier brave, who dares to stand 
The battle's brunt and scar, 

Goes forth to hear a holier band 
Proclaim a nobler war. 

From city slums the children run 
To seek the verdant lawn ; 

Amidst the group a little one 
Within a coach is drawn. 

The City Sabbath. 63 

Pale, fragile babe ! they soothe thy woe, 

And tell of bowers they seek, 
Where flowerets grow, and zephyrs blow 

Bright roses for thy cheek. 


Dear little hearts ! flowers of the grove 

Will hasten to decay ; 
But garlands won by deeds of love 

Will never fade away. 

On silent streets, from smiling skies, 

The sun pours down his rays ; 
Now from ten thousand voices rise 

Ten thousand songs of praise. 

Once more the everlasting Word 

Is taught to age and youth ; 
And Thou dost count them all, O Lord, 

Who worship Thee in truth, 

Whose thoughts ev*n midst the toil and din 

Of life are upward borne. 
Where chiming silver bells ring in 

A brighter Sabbath morn. 

Where those who love Thee now below, 

When life's brief path is trod, 
Arrayed in spotless robes shall go 

Up to Thy house, O God ! 

64 Poems and Songs. 


Smile, baby, smile ! from thy cradle-bed peeping ; 

Flowers gemmed with dew-drops are waking from sleep. 
Hush thee, dear baby, thy mother is sleeping, — 

Peacefully, silently, slumbering deep. 
Innocent dreamer, sad vigils we keep for thee ; 

Swift gliding sunbeams thy murmurs beguile ; 
Smile on, unheeding, dear babe, we will weep for thee, 

Tea[rs come with years — baby, smile ! 

Smile, baby, smile ! though our sad hearts are aching, 

Miss not thy mother's lips once pressed to thine ; 
Never on earth from thy slumber awaking 

Shall thy young head on her bosom recline. 
Oft hath she clasped thee, close, rapturous, kissing thee, 

Singing the lullaby songs of our isle ; 
Sad was her farewell, with feeble hands blessing thee ; 

Sadder to me was thy smile. 

Smile, baby, smile ! 'neath thy golden brown lashes, 

Flasheth thy soul's dawn from fathomless blue ; 
Light from their shadows on memory flashes — 

Gleams from thy mother's eyes loving and true. 
Arms — not thy mother's — to-day are entwining thee 

Round, where her dear hands were clasped for a while ; 
Anguished to Heaven, her spirit resigning thee, 

Mirrpred thy face and thy smile. 

The Motfierless Babe, 65 

Smile, baby, smile ! thou hast time left for weeping ; 

Time when thy loss lengthens out with the years ; 
Time, when life's shadows like night-shades are creeping ; 

Time, when no mother's hand wipeth thy tears ; 
Time, when temptation in danger enthralleth thee ; 

Time, when no song shall the silence beguile 3 
Only in dreams shalt thou wake when she calleth thee — 

Dreams that shall fade like thy smile. 

Love was not lost 'neath the Jordan's dark billow ; 

Love was not dead when the sweet eyes were sealed ; 
Love was not laid 'neath the sad drooping willow ; 

Love cannot fade like a flower of the field. 
Fathomless, limitless, Death's flood prevaileth not, 

Though from her face thou art banished awhile ; 
Deep crystal streams from a fountain that faileth not, 

Break forth for thee, baby, smile. 

66 Poems and Songs. 


Behold, 'tis morn ! Night's shining hosts retire ; 
From slumber deep the city wakes once more ; 

A soft light breaking gilds each glittering spire, 
And countless homes their many inmates pour 
To swell life's tide and mingle with its roar. 

I hear the ringing clang of hastening feet, 
Each son of toil to join the tumult hies. 

The cold grey stones return the measured beat. 
Swift from the dusky walls dense mists arise, 
Where home lights glow — the city's starry eyes. 

As stars that fade before the rising day, 

So one by one they glow, and fade from sight ; 

'Midst streaks of blue dissolves the morning's grey, 
Night's lingering shadows, hovering round, take flight, 
For God above hath said, *' Let there be light !" 

Now swiftly rolls an ever-changing stream. 

The weak, the strong, the rich, and poor are here ; 

Some careworn, weary, tread as in a dream, 
Some shrink from public gaze in trembling fear, 
And some with manly step", their heads uprear. 

And lo ! the schoolboy hastes to join the troop — 
He whistles shrill, and louder notes reply, 

While chosen mates arrive — a joyous group — 
With books of lore in shoulder-straps piled high. 
They glean fresh mirth from all things passing by. 

Morning in tJie City, 6y 

The little maidens with their playmates hie, 
And lovingly their tedious tasks compare ; 

What mirth and language light each eager eye, 
While sportive winds uptoss their flowing hair, 
And faces blend the rose and lily fair. 

Here intermingle in the ceaseless throng 
Frail age, youth's smiling morn, and manhood's might ; 

Some scan the news-bill as they pass along, 
Or hail the loaded car that looms in sight. 
And some the while it flies, with ease alight. 

Ah ! who can tell e'en here amongst the mass. 
Borne thoughtlessly on life's uncertain tide, 

Some prince unknown, in lowly guise, may pass. 
Whose noble mind, exempt from human pride. 
Might well the destiny of nations guide. 

But who can read the thoughts that light each face ? 
Or tell what fruit may from their influence spring ? 

Some deeds are done which time shall ne'er efface ; 
Or death may rudely touch some heart's frail string 
Ere night, descending, beat her downy wing. 

Oh ! Thou whose watchful eye in mercy keeps 
A tireless vigil o'er her many towers, 

While 'neath the arch' the river darkly sweeps^ 

For ever guard, and bless with prosperous showers, 
The garden where Thou tend'st Thy human flowers. 

6S Poems and Songs, 


Busy, restless, little sprite, 
Working hard from mom till night ; 
Where's he been— oh ! woeful plight — 
Was that pinafore once white ? 

Careless little Jim. 

Earnest eyes so deeply blue — 
Love and mischief peeping through — 
Lips like rosebuds wet with dew, 
Are the lilies sweet as you ? 

Bonnie little Jim. 

Never thinks he's doing wrong ! 
Playing pranks the whole day long ! 
Hear him sing his little song — 
" Pussy's in the well — ding, dong ! " 

Merry little Jim. 

Loves all things he must not get — 
Will for knives and scissors fret : 
Oh ! these sighs of deep regret 
Catch him, or the milk's upset — 

Naughty little Jim. 

Little Jim, 69 

Into what Elysian maze 
Doth that dreamful spirit gaze ? 
Dreadful 6hild ! my brain you'll craze- 
'Tis his hat that's in a blaze. 

Reckless little Jim. 

Never should be out of view, 
Oh, my darling, where are you ? 
Picking up his sock and shoe ; 
Silently I must pursue 

Roving little Jim. 

There he is ; his eyes ablaze, 
In the sunset's ruddy rays. 
Perched behind the glass fruit-vase ! 
Will he never mend his ways ? 

Daring little Jim. 

Ere I gather from the floor 
Fragments of some book of lore 
Down he falls — oh, such a roar ! 
Let me kiss the brow so sore, 

Weeping little Jim. 

Surely now you've need to rest ; 
Roving birdies seek their nest ; 

JO Poems and Songs. 

Ev'q the sun sinks in the west ; 
Lean your head on sissie's breast. 

Weary little Jim. 

Soon again you'll run and leap, 
Laugh and sing, but scorn to weep ; 
How the shadows slowly creep — 
Well, I never— fast asleep ! 

Good night, little Jim. 

Grandmothers Treasures, 71 


Sunbeams light her silvery locks, 
Bending o'er her treasured box, 
Grandma' views, through misty tears, 
Relics dear of bygone years ; 
Vanished forms her memory calls, 
Voices haunt the silent walls, 
Sounds of mirth and music gay. 
Children shouting in their play ; • 
Merry, prattling, little maid, 
Romping boys with bold parade, 
Soon to youth and manhood grown, 
Voices deep and baritone ; 
Towering hopes that greet the sky, 
Dreams of happy by-and-bye. 
Letters from a loving hand. 
Painted flowers and castles grand ; 
Joyous mother, what a son, 
Scarce the morn of life begun. 

Mirage false, away, away ! 

Fleeting as a summer day — 

She hath lost her boy so brave, 

Laid him in the silent grave ; 

Swift he passed when none was nigh, 

Closed from earth his dark bright eye ; 

72 Poems and Songs, 

Only left this parchment old, 
Dear as scroll of shining gold ; 
Left these little faded flowers, 
Gemmed with tears in dreamy hours. 
^ Cease, sad heart, to mourn tliy loss, i 
Other cares must thee engross ; 
Raised to heaven, in earnest prayer, 
Many hearts thy sorrow share. 
Loving ones will soothe thy fears. 
Comfort thy declining years. 
This fair child, with locks of jet. 
Eyes of deepest violet. 
Singing, binding mother's hair, 
Tending now her flowerets fair. 
Bounding off" to school or play, 
Helping mother all the day. 
Growing womanly and mild, 
Tall — no longer now a child — 
See her pass a blushing bride — 
Love hath woo'd her from thy side, 

Sunbeams light her silvery locks, 
Weeping o'er her treasured box ; 
Flowers of memory never fade, 
Backward from her misty shade : 
All her loved and lost are here, 
Bright they glow and disappear ; 

Grandmothers Treasures, 73 

Scattered, scattered far and wide, 
Sundered by the Jordan's tide, 
O'er the ocean vast and free, 
O'er the gleaming jasper sea, 
Angel -visitants are nigh. 
Voices whisper from on high — 
God will gather every gem 
For thy heavenly diadem. 

74 Poems and Songs, 


Observe how great the little things 

So often lightly viewed \ 
Like rivers, fed by mountain springs, 

How vast their magnitude. 

Though small, as winding streams that gush 

The glittering pebbles o'er. 
Far eddying swift their waters rush 

To lave the eternal shore. 

God made no trivial things below. 

No birds that sing and fly, 
No things that breathe, or flowers that blow, 

Too humble for His eye. 

His mind is great — endowed with power, — 

His vision God-like, pure. 
Who reads in every wayside flower 

The Maker's signature. 

His heart is strong by land or waves. 

The battle fierce that dares ; 
But nobler he who calmly braves 

A host of little cares. 


Little Things. 

He is a prince whose eye can read, 
In letters bold and clear. 

The greatness of a gentle deed, 
The grandeur of a tear. 

Oh, ponder well the little things 
Which God in love hath given ; 

Life is a harp of thousand string;!. 
Whose echoes are in heaven. 




7^ Poems and Songs, 

» V 


" Oh ! Maggie, heard ye ever sic a din ? 

I think ye'Jl maist be frichtit tae come in : 

But come in-owre, an' rest yersel' a wee, 

IVe jist put on the kettle for oor tea. 

Oh ! sic a hoose, ye'U hardly fin' a chair, 

Ye'll think they're dancin' reels across the flair ; 

My certy, Maggie, I've my ain adae, 

Wi' richt hard wark I ne'er hae time for play. 

Thae bairns are gabblin' like as mony geese ; 

Bob ! div' ye hear me, will ye haud yer peace ? 

His dragon's tail is fankled roond his feet, 

Gae, lowse him, Kate, an' let him to the street ; 

Wull, fin' anither place tae stott yer ba', 

Ye'll smash doon a' the dishes frae the wa'. 

I think there ne'er wis woman tried like me — 

Be aflf an' gie us quaiteness for a wee ; 

That dirty flair hae I this day scoured weel. 

Redd up my grate, an* polished a' the steel ; 

I cleaned thae bairns, and look hoo they've come hame- 

Their een, the brats— they canna blacken them — 

Keek oot o' faces smeart wi' stoure an' mud. 

Like specks o' blue oot-owre a thun'er clud. 

This couthie wee thing slaisters a' my goun. 

Syne raxes to my hair and glaums it doon. 

The guidman never sees me oot the bit. 

When at the warst, I'm shure tae hear his fit, 

" Tlie Toom Fire-En' !' 77 

But John's a man I never heard complain ; 
Wi' cheerie face he tak's the skirlin' wean, 
I run tae set the table for his tea, 
Half-donnert, like a body on the spree. 
Oh ! Maggie, hoo I envy you at e'en. 
Your weel toshed hoose, wi' a' things trig and bein ; 
Your glancin' grate glints back the ingle lowe, 
Your braw geraniums (mine'll never grow) 
Hand up their heids against the window peen 
Their bonnie blossoms glintin' through the green ; 
Your tabby purrs — the hearth is a* her ain — 
Oor cat, sair tousel't, worn tae skin and bane. 
Like hunted creatur', skelps across the flair. 
And keeps her guard aneath the guidman's chair. 
Your Tam comes hame tae fin' ye trig and braw. 
Your hair aye snod, and apron like the snaw. 
Your kettle singin' and your teapot het, 
Your hoose aye shinin', and your table set 
Hoo strangely things are ordered here, the taen 
Has far owre muckle wark, the tither nane. 
Losh ! Maggie, hae I vex'd ye ? Tak' your tea, 
I'm shure ye needna heed the like o' me." 

Quo' Maggie, — " Whaur's the heart that's free frae care ? 

Noo hear me, Jean, an' envy me nae mair 

O' my toom hoose, and heart that's jist as toom, 

When your cup's fu' and rinnin' owre the brim ; 

Ye kent na, Jean, that mine was ance as fu'. 

There was a time I channett sair like you, 

78 Poems and Songs, 

Oof wark ahin' and weans aye in'my road, 
But noo, Fve laid them a' aneath the sod ; 
Aye, Jeanie, greet yer fill, I canna greet — 
What wad I gie to hear my bairnies' feet ; 
I wish my fiair was marked frae en' tae en', 
VVi' wee feet rinnin' but an' toddlin' ben. 
I wish their toys aboot my hearth were Spread, 
Though ance, like you, I thocht I'd like it redd ; 
It's redd noo, Jeanie, and I'm left alane. 
My hoose is redd, but oh ! the bairns are gane — 
Nane seekin' pieces fash me ony mair, 
. Nae bairnies cress my goun or pu' my hair." 

Quo' Jean, — " Forgi'e me, I'm a sinfu' woman ; 

Oh ! Maggie, should sic days for me be comin'. 

What wad life be if we were left alane ? 

Even if the wee'st o' them a' were ta'en — 

Or Bob, or Wull, or Kate, O God, forgi'e me ! 

And though I've grummelt lang, aye leave them wi' me. 

Aye, Maggie, your wee lambs are a' at rest 

Wi' Ane abune, who lo'es them far the best. 

But woman, what you've said I'll ne'er forget, 

As lang's I leeve I'll bless the day we met. 

And oh ! may He who gi'es us a' we hae. 

Whose arm uphauds us in the partin* day, 

Lang keep us free frae skaith an' trouble sair, 

An' leave us aye oor bairns — we'll near be puir. 

Bring them Home. 79 


Have you wealth of wishes kind ? 

Bring them home; 
Manners cheerful and refined ? 

Bring them home. 
Are you loved by all around ? 
Are your words in laughter drowned ? 
Let the dear home-walls resound — 

Bring them home. 

Have you pleasant words to say? 

Bring them home- 
Have you compliments to pay ? 

Bring them home ; 
Songs of sympathy or mirth ? 
Let them echo round the hearth, 
'Tis the dearest spot on earth — 

Bring them home. 

Have you sorrows none can share ? 

Bring them home. 
Would you ease the griefs you bear ? 

Bring them home. 
Come where gloomy cares take flight, 
In the lustre of its light, 
Here all eyes are sparkling bright — 

Bring them home. 

8o Poems and Songs. 

Have you friends you long to know ? 

Bring them home. 

Bring them to the warm hearth's glow- 
Bring them home. 

Bid each welcome as the guest 

Of the hearts who love you best. 

Would you put them to the test? — 

Bring them home. 

Have you precious gems of truth ? 

Bring them home ; 
Let them crown the brow of youth — 

Bring them home. 
While the voice of Wisdom calls, 
And the light of glory falls 
On the everlasting walls, — 

Bring them home. 

The Parrois Lament, 8i 


What a pitiful sight, 'neath the pale moonlight^ 

What a wretched condition is mine, 
Here doomed to await the grim sentence of fate, 

Alone in the shadow I pine. 

The rude birds that fly from these elms so high 
Rend the air with their harsh, vulgar scream. 

While my lot I bemoan, forgotten and lone, 
By the side of this murmuring stream. 

Why scorn I tKe lark though his plumage is dark. 

It is best for his dull, native sky ! 
And these poor dusky crows, why count them my foes ? 

They are less to be pitied than 1 1 

If near them I light they fly off in a fright, 
Good manners they never have known ; 

These odious owls, unabashed by my scowls, 
Salute me as one of their own. 

In fancy I rove through a deep shady grove, 

In a milder and lovelier clime. 
When I flew down to drink from the cool river's brink. 

What lot seemed so happy as mine 1 

82 Poems and Songs, 

O ! how can I tell ! I was caught in that dell, 

And, far from the forests so free, 
Was bartered or sold for a handful of gold, 

And banished far over the sea, 

To a quaint little town, mid heather-hills brown. 

Oft bleak and bedrizzled with rain : 
There snug was my home, whence I*d no need to roam, 

Ah ! fool that I was to complain ! 

Such homage I won, the children would run 

When I shrieked in my glory and pride ; 
The learned would stand, an awe-stricken band, 

The rustics their mouths opened wide. 

And I was the joy of the romping school-boy, 

Who revered not my wisdom nor age ; 
One queer little rogue, with his mimicking brogue, 

Made me oft whet my bill on my cage. 

All things I loved best, at my slightest request, 

Were constantly lavished on me ; 
I would strut like a squire round my palace of wire. 

But, yet, how I longed to be free ! 

And many an hour, in the sweet garden bower. 
Have children danced round me with glee j 

Once they left my door wide — imagine my pride — 
I flew to the top of a tree. 

The Parrots Lament, 83 

Then, soaring on high to the calm evening sky, 

In a joyous bewildering trance, 
When the birds of the wood I wildly pursued, 

They fled 'neath my withering glance. 

But this grove, damp and lone, is not like mine own. 

Which I left far over the sea ; 
Too late now, I know, through starvation and woe, 

They are not always blest who are free. 

Yet in part I'm consoled, ev'n while I behold 

Time, talents, and beauty misspent, 
What though never again I'm heard in this glen, 

You may profit by Polly's Lament. 

84 Poenis and Songs, 


Wee bairn, we've come yer health tae speer, 
Tae wish ye routh o' gowd an* gear; 
For sicna hoose, an' sicna steer, 

We'll a' forgie ye. 
I'm sure it gies us muckle cheer, 

This nicht tae scjC ye. 

Ma certy! but you're sune beginnin', 
Tae skreigh an' deave us wi' yer dinnin'; 
Aye, ye can keep the hale hoose rinnin', 

Baith sune an' late ; 
An' a' the baimies roond ye grinnin', 

Man, ye're no blate. 

Wi' lang white frock an' lace sae vauntie, 
Contrive tae look a wee mair cantie; 
Behave yersel' before yer auntie, 

An' blythsome grannie. 
She says we winna like tae want ye, 

Puir helpless mannie. 

Ye're naither clever yet nor bonnie. 
Nor hauf sae guid's yer brither Johnnie, 
Wha Diever wearies waitin' on ye, 

The lee-lang day. 
But here your richt's as guid as ony, 

I'll daur tae say. 

The Baimie, 85 

Thae airms flang up, oor care beseechin', 
Are mony a halesome lesson teachin'; 
Aye, mony a sermon ye've been preachin', 

Tae ane an' a'. 
Ye speak o' things that's gae far-reachin', 

For ane sae sma'. 

Jist wait a wee, for time sune passes, 
You'll be a callan at your classes. 
An' then a man among the masses, 

If spared below. 
Gaun spruce an' spree tae see the lasses, 

As like as no. 

Thae wee red feet, in constant motion, 
May tread on lands far ower the ocean ; 
That head may guide, wi' couthie caution, 

The thochts o' men. 
An' carry mony a gae queer notion, 

For ocht we ken. 

Nae doot the Haun' that here has lent ye, 

On some important errand sent ye ; 

Aye keep through life that thocht foment ye, 

Yer steadfast aim. 
Till He wi' honours great present ye, 

In His braw hame. 

S6 Poems and Songs, 


There's a song that angels sing 
In the palace of the King, 
And its echoes sweetly ring 

In mine ear. 
When they lift the golden lyre, 
And their fingers sweep the wire, 
How these thrilling notes inspire — " 

"Never fear r' 

In the stillness of the night. 
Hovering o'er the pillow white. 
When the sufferer's eyes are bright, 

They are near. 
And his sinking spirits rise, 
As he shuts his weary eyes 
While the last sweet echo dies — 

" Never fear ! " 

Now above the city's roar, 
In a joyous throng they pour 
Their singing. List ! as they soar. 

Sounding clear. 
And the weary hear their song, 
And each heart grows wondrous strong, 
While the echoes roll along — 

** Never fear ! " 

Never Fear, 87 

Where the sounding billows rave 
O'er the ocean's lonesome cave, 
'Mid the rushing wind and wave 

They will cheer, 
And the wanderer's heart grows light. 
For the darkness now takes flight, 
He will soon have land in sight — 

" Never, fear ! " 

Dreading enters with a sigh. 
Pales the cheek of rosy dye. 
Dims the lustre of the eye, 

With a tear ? 
Fills the lightest heart with care. 
And the weary with despair. 
Brings the first bright silver hair ? 

" Never fear ! " 

Sing, O sing, angelic throng, 
O'er a world of strife and wrong, 
'Mid the tumult loud and long. 

We will hear ; 
Till the night of woe depart, 
Hope renew and vigour start 
In the trembling fainting heart — 

" Never fear ! " 

88 Poems and Songs, 


What see you over the wave ? 

Nothing at all. 
Nothing beyond the grave ? 

Nothing at all. 
Gleams not a star whose light 
Shines in the darkest night ? 
Is there no wrong, no right ? 

Nothing at all. 

What is your aim in life ? 

Nothing at all. 
What your reward in strife ? 

Nothing at all. 
What for the cold world's jeers, 
What for your hopes and fears, 
What for your toils and tears ? 

Nothing at all. 

What makes the north wind blow ? 

Nothing at all. 
What stores the rain and snow ? 

Nothing at all. 
What makes the rolling deep 
In crested columns sweep. 
And rock her wrath to sleep ? 

Nothing at all. 

Tlie Agnostic, 89 

What modulates man's mind ? 

Nothing at all. 
What makes him harsh or kind ? 

Nothing at all. 
Why does he not conceal 
The soul he cannot feel, 
And let his eyes reveal 

Nothing at all ? 

Nothing beneath, above. 

Nothing at all ! 
Why do we mortals love 

Nothing at all ? 
Weep for the thousands, weep. 
Lost on this trackless deep, 
Toiling in tears, to reap — 

Nothing at all ! 

90 Poems and Songs, 


I WAS a merry-hearted child, 

Yet oft in thoughtful mood 
The lingering hours at eve beguiled 

In haunts of solitude. 
Alone I spent the dreamy hours, 

And watched the shadows fall 
Across those little painted flowers — 

The picture on the wall. 

A rosebud and a lily chaste, 

Some flowers I could not name ; 
All dusty grown with age, encased 

In a little gilded frame. 
The dancing sunbeams round it played. 

And often I recall. 
In golden beams or ^usky shade, 

The picture on the wall. 

One summer's evening as I gazed, 

Nor thought that one was near, 
I started from my dream, amazed, 

My mother's voice to hear. 
^' Why is it thus, my child,*' she cried, 

" You come not when I call ? " 
Then, with an upward glance she spied 

The picture on the wall. 

The Picture on the WalL 91 

" I had a brother once/ she said, 

" So gentle and so true ; 
I loved him in the years long fled, 

When I was just like you. 
Together we have romped and sang — 

He was beloved by all ; 
He painted these sweet flowers that hang 

Upon our parlour wall. 

** It seems but yesterday, my child, 

Since Willie went away ; 
He kissed my falling tears, and smiled, 

And looked so bright and gay, 
His violet eyes w.ere dark and true, 

His form was straight and tall, — 
I see him still whene'er I view 

That picture on the wall. 

** But oh, he came not back again, 

Qur little home to cheer ; 
Far, far away he dying lay. 

Without a loved one near. 
He died, and from the grave's damp air 

We never can recall 
The hand which painted with such care 

That picture on the wall." 

I gazed as bound by some strange spell, 
My mother ceased to speak, 

92 Poems and Songs, 

While silently the tear-drops fell, 

And trickled down her cheek. 
" Ah ! child," she sighed, " I think 'twas given, 

Though trivial 'tis, and sniall, 
To lead me far from earth to heaven, 

That picture on the wall. 

" We yet shall meet, it seems to say, 

When life's brief night is o'er, 
And oft together wend our way 

Along the peaceful shore ; 
Where never, through eternal years. 

Shall shades of sorrow fall. 
Nor fond hearts view, through misty tears, 

A picture on the wall." 

Lifes Echoes. 93 


Our lives with every passing chime 

Impressions deep are casting ; 
HEow closely linked with things of time 

Are treasures everlasting. 

A maiden plucked a blossom wild 

Beside a flowing river ; 
She gave it to a dying child, 

And now it blooms for ever. 

A mother's voice once sweetly rang 

While o'er her infant bending ; 
How little recked she while she sang 

That song was never-ending. 

A brother gave a gentle look 

For words in anger spoken ; 
'Twas graven deep in memory's book ; 

The spell is still unbroken. 

Oh ! could we know what trivial deeds, 

Our destinies are sealing, 
Thrice fruitful as the tiny seeds 

Their life in death revealing. 

What vows our erring hearts would keep, 

What zeal our souls inspire ; 
How solemnly would fingers sweep 

Along life's mystic lyre. 

94 Poems and Songs, 

''GOING home:' 

Going home in the twilight grey, 

Tired and flushed with the heat and play, 

Brown arms scorched with the glowing sun, 

" Mother is waiting, little one ! " 

Brown locks shading the violet eyes, 

Weary watching for butterflies, 

Drooping flowers in her small hands press'd. 

Fingers scratched at the robin's nest, 

Cruel roses to hide the thorn. 

Pinafore soiled, was white that morn ; 

Tired of flowers, they fade so fast, 

Tired of woods, when the shades are cast. 

Stars look down from the deep blue dome. 

Weary, so weary, going home ! 

Going home, 'neath the bridal veil. 
Gold encircles her finger pale. 
Hawthorn blossom her snowy crown, 
Dazzling whiteness and dusky brown, 
Rosy blushes and drooping eyes. 
Birdie soon from the home-nest flies. 
Leaves the friends who are tried and true, 
Leaves the old home for the new. 
Guard her love through the fleeting years ; 
Eyes look far through the mist of tears, 

^' Going Homey 95 

Shield her love from the blight of woe, 
All of heaven that lives below ; 
Shadow her o'er where'er she roam, 
Happy, so happy ! going home. 

Going home in the blush of morn, 

Pale as the blossom on the thorn. 

Fair, unscathed by the blight of care, 

All the brown dusk in her hair ; 

Eyes look dark from their drooping shade, 

Soon to close on the flowers that fade ; 

White hands soothing with mild caress, 

Eager still in their haste to bless. 

" I'm going home," she whispers low, 

" Where faded flowers shall bloom and blow. 

Angels, whispering in the night. 

Call me home to their fields of light. 

Loved ones beckon across the foan^." 

Tired, she murmurs, " I'm going home." 

g6 Poems and Songs, 


Far up from the choristers' pew, 
Sweet solemn anthems were ringing, 

O'er spires that were lost in the blue, 
To choirs where the angels were singing. 

** Almighty Creator ! O list 
To the voice of thy congregation ; " 

But the Lord was sad, for he missed 
A chord from the hymn of creation ; 

And the Church bowed down to the King, 
'Mid silence of angels and mortals. 

And said, — " 'Tis the sacred we sing — 
The sacred alone, in Thy portals ; 

" The secular. Lord, is without ; 

And, behold, we have deafened our ears, 
Lest children, with laughter and shout. 

Should mingle their mirth with our tears \ 

" Lest the birds should trill through our praise 
Or the streamlet be heard from the dell, 

I^est the stars in their loneliness gaze 
On our worship, dissolving the spell. 

^* For the world, O Lord, we have wept. 
When alone with our sorrow we've sobbed. 

Thy words and Thy precepts we've kept." 

" Man can rob Me," saith God, ** I am robbed. 

Sacred and Secular. 97 

*' Ye rob Me of light and of love, 

Of the child-heart's deepest affections, 
Of treasures I deemed far above 

Formalities — sessions and sections. 

" What make I, too vile for your eyes ? 

What set ye apart, in your scorning ? 
Shall nian who is mortal despise 

The glory of Heaven's adorning ? 

" Come forth from your temples and gaze 

On wonders untold, My Creation, 
Flowers, breathing forth perfume and praise, 

The woodlands that lend inspiration, 

" The blue sky commingled with flame. 

Warm, brooding, in tenderest greeting, 
The free waves that thunder my name. 

The mountains their echo repeating ; 

** The eye shall I form, yet not see ? 

Plan that mind, and yet not understand, 
Like mine own, which is limitless, free 

As waters that cover the sand ? 

** Shall I tune the choirs of heaven 

Thus to sing, when for silence I pine? 
And ask only one day in seven 

When years, yea, and ages are mine ? 

98 Poems and Songs. 

** Bring children to lisp of my praise, 
Joyous youth in the first flush of morn, 

Bring strength in the glory of days, 

Bring hearts that are bleeding and torn. 

" Sing, labourer, sing, at thy toil ; 

You strike where mine hand hath hollowed ; 
The tiller, who tendeth the soil, 

Forth in my footsteps hath followed. 

" Ve artists, ascend with delight 

Yonder hills I have fashioned, to trace. 

My canvas looms over the height. 

With its blending of colour and grace. 

" O, minstrel, who tunest the lyre. 

Hear strains from my symphony grand ; 

My fingers have hallowed the wire, 
Their impress is warm to thy hand. 

'* Yea ! sing till each shadowy cloud. 
Obscuring my smile and my blessing, 

Dissolves, while my voice echoes loud, 
Strike the lyre, not a chord is missing." 

Shut Out. 99 


(Dedicated to the Sick Children's HospitcUf QamethUl, Glasgow.) 

To the cots of the sick and the dying 
Came an angel all gleaming and bright, 

And she passed where the children were lying. 
Tucked warm 'neath the coverlets white. 

With glances of tenderest pity 

She swept through the corridors long, 
For a sob had gone up from the city 

And broken her transport of song. 

" No room in the ward for another ! 

They might let me in, I'm so small ; 
But, oh ! there's so many, dear mother, 

They cannot have room for us all. 

" I'nA growing so weak and so weary, 

Without me you've plenty of care ; 
Our poor home is dingy and dreary. 

Will they ever have room for me there ?" 

** No room for my pale little flower ! 

With eyes like the blue mountain bell ; 
If she only were there for an hour, 

I'm sure she'd begin to get well. 

lOO Poems and Songs. 

" Up yonder, where mild lights are shining, 
Are children so kindly soothed down ; 

Young heads on the pillows reclining, 
Locks, dusky and golden and brown/' 

Come home ! has the drooping child any ? 

The sound wakes her sorrow anew. 
O God ! that such homes are so many, 

And homes for the suffering so few 1 

Home ! lonely in dim light to languish. 
Where smoke shrouds the blue of the sky : 

In sorrow, privation, and anguish. 
Home, home, in the darkness to die. 

The angel went out from the city. 

Where children were gathering flowers, 

Almost wishing in infinite pity 

Her hands had been human like ours. 

Come, children, and list to her story ; 

In pity she pleads for that child j 
To bless is the crown of her glory — 

Oh ! bring her your flowerets wild 1 

In meadows and woods they are waking ; 
Bring roses for children pale \ 

Shut Out, loi 

Bring balm for the hearts that are aching. 
Bring songs for the silence and wail. 

Go ! gather them fresh from the valleys ; 

Bring life from the brink of the tomb ; 
Bring God's Wild Flowers from the alleys, 

And shout, " There is room ! there is room ! " 

I02 Poems and Songs, 


Oh, I ha'e seen soirees in holly decket ha's, 
Wi' hundreds o' lassies and laddies in raws, 
Aye, mony a gran' ane ; — but, noo to be plain, 
I've never seen ane to compare wi' oor ain. 
Jist lift up yer een to oor Christmas Tree, 
Wi' its weel-laden boughs at oor ain Soiree. 

I could hardly believe when the day-schule was past, 
That lang-looked-for pleasure had reached us at last, 
Frae mony a hame, and doon mony a street. 
Cam' the patter and tramp o' wee hurryin' feet. 
" What means a' this steer ?" 'said a lassie to me. 
I sune let her ken 'twas oor ain Soiree. 

Nae wearisome speeches to keep us a' late — 
Nae flytein', an' sayin', " Sit still an' be quate " — 
Nae lang-face complainers are wi* us the nicht, 
Wha think we're owre happy, and say it's no richt 
To rattle oor saucers — the signal for tea. 
If there's ony, jist mind it's oor ain Soiree. 

Oor Superintendent is here, an' there's nane 
I' country or toun to compare wi' oor ain \ 
The wee'st o' bairns get his kindliest care. 
He's jist the richt man, an' the best for the chair. 
Oor kind teachers' faces are blithsome to see. 
An' we laugh when we like at oor ain Soiree. 

• ''Oor Ain Soiree^ 103 

Three cheers for oor Pastor ! he smiles on us a', 
An' looks wi' delight on oor flower-decked ha', 
An*, while we are happy, he bids us be wise. 
An' press toward the mark for the heavenly prize, 
Fra Haun's that were pierced for you an' for me. 
Oh, think o't the nicht at oor ain Soiree ! 

An' lang may oor scholars be first in the field, 

An' arrows aye glance frae each breast plate an' shield. 

Aye lift up the Cross, let its free banner wave, 

For we are Christ's soldiers ! O scholars, be brave : 

His pardon's oor safety — his Cross is oor plea ; 

He smiles on us a' at oor ain Soiree ! 

A' happy this nicht in oor ain heartsome place, 
Wi' mony a comfort, an' kindly-kent face ; 
When nicht darkens o'er us, an' sorrows betide. 
An' years like the wild winds hae scattered us wide. 
Then often we'll think, wi' a tear in oor e'e, 
O' this nicht an' the licht o' oor ain Soiree ! 

I04 Poems and Songs, 


Whither, whither, shall I flee? 
Everything is blamed on me ; 
'Tis not mine to reason why, 
Shrinking from each searching eye. 
Here in solitude I pine, 
Wilful, wayward Catherine. 

Who's done this, and who's done that ? 
Who's the owner of this hat ? 
Wearer of the crumpled lace. 
Who is always in disgrace ? 
Who is never up till nine ? 
Certainly, 'tis Catherine. 

And at school 'tis just the same — 
Everything on me they blame ; 
Always when I feel most gay, 
Marching off to join the play. 
Teacher calls along the line, — 
** Wait behind. Miss Catherine." 

Aunt Maria plagues me sore. 
Screams out when I shut the door, 
Says, — " La ! what an awkward gait ! 
Won't you keep your shoulders straight ? " 
Glares upon me when I dine, 
Mutters, — " Shocking, Catherine ! " 

Catherine. 1 05 

Norah's lost her bow and gloves, 
Molly's lost the beau she loves, 
Aunt Maria's lost her wig, 
Which was always rather big ; 
All declare the fault is mine. 
Hark, they're calling, "Catherine." 

Happy birds by none pursued, 
Roaming through the shady wood, 
While I start at every sound, 
Stammer, blush, and look around ; 
Every breeze that stirs the vine, 
Sighing, murmurs, " Catherine." 


io6 Poems and Songs, 


Oh ! list, little maid, while the night-shades fall, 
One morning will wake thee monarch of all — 
The sun cannot SQt on thine empire vast, 
Unrivalled in fame, in strength unsurpassed — 
Oh, then they will crown thee, and call thee Queen, 
In halls where mightiest monarchs have been ; 
Kings shall surround thee, with jewel and crest, 
From the north and south, from the east and west. 


Saith the Queen, — "I'll be good, for the good shall 

When these thrones and empires and kingdoms wane : 
When their glory is hushed in solitude," 
Saith the Queen, — ** There are crowns for the good." 

Oh, the beacons blazed on the mountains old 
When they crowned her Queen with a tyre of gold, 
And the hills re-echoed their ringing cheers ; 
But the lights were lost in a mist of tears, 
And paled the lustre of diadems 
'Neath the starry gleams of those trickling gems : 
The tears on that high-born maiden's cheek, 
Have sealed the promise, she could not speak. 

Saith the Queen, — " I'll be good," etc. 

Queen Victories Resolve, 107 

Oh, sorrows have shadowed thy halls, dear Queen, 
They have touched thy locks with a silver sheen ; 
But thine be the glory, and thine the crown. 
That the victor lifts, yet never lays down, 
Still shining afar with each pure desire, 
Bedecked with its jewels of mystic fire; 
'Tis free to all to win and wear, 
Who echo on earth thy heartfelt prayer. 

Saith the Queen,—" Til be good," etc. 

io8 Poems and Songs. 


Angels, hold a consultation ! 

Earthward turn your pitying eyes \ 
Let the dews of consolation 

Fall around us from the skies ; 
Eyes are dim, when for Jim 

Fervently our thoughts arise. 

He is playing with his brothers, 
While the shadows softly fall \ 

You will know him 'mongst the others, 
Never coming when they call ; 

Lips so meek never speak : 
Words were music to us all. 

Saw ye ever face so sainted, 

Framed in clustering auburn hair ? 

Angel-pencil never painted 

Lustrous eyes so dark and rare ; 

Cheeks are each like the peach — 
Pink, and delicately fair. 

Never, never hath he spoken 

Through these weary, waiting years ; 

Never hath the spell been broken — 
We have watched in hopes and fears, 

But the child only smiled, 
Smiled in wonder at our tears. 

The Silent Child, 109 

Angels, hold a consultation ! 

Bear the message to the King, 
'Neath the grand illumination, 

While the seraphs cease to sing, 
Tell to Him all of Jim, 

Let Him touch the broken string. 

Yet while here the mystery lingers. 
And the night-shades crowd around ; 

Leave his tiny, clinging fingers 
In my own securely bound. 

Till the Lord this lost chord 

Touches, while high heavens resound. 

no Poems and Songs, 


We're longing for a coming time, 

And the clouds are lifting fast ; 
Hearts grow strong who have weathered long 

The breath of the angry blast ; 
But the light* will dawn at last 

That thousands long to see, 
'Twill be a merry din when the bells ring in 

The grand, grand Jubilee. 

The face, once pale and wan, shall bloom, 

And blush like the rosebud fair ; 
The sunny beam shall never gleam 

Or glow on a silver hair ; 
And we'll bid farewell to care. 

And hear with shouts of glee. 
The silvery chime of the golden time — 

The grand, grand Jubilee. 

The magistrates will rise at morn 

And close the judgment hall. 
For wherefore need the counsel plead 

Or culprit's teardrops fall ? 
When Love is Lord of all. 

And the long-imprisoned free. 
New hope will start in every heart, 

In the grand, grand Jubilee. 

The Grand Jubilee, 1 1 1 

The workhouse ruins then shall be 

Relics from days of old \ 
We'll sometimes tell of the prison cell 

As an ancient tale is told ; 
When we tread on the dust of gold, 

By the surge of a sunny sea, 
Nor dream of graves 'neath the crested waves 

In the grand, grand Jubilee. 

The proud and lofty shall descend 

Down from their castles high^ 
And seek to share a brother's care — 

Nor hasten to descry 
A mote within his eye, 

But seek some good to see, 
And tell around what good he found 

In the grand, grand Jubilee. 

The god of war no more on earth 

Shall ride his iron car. 
But hands clasp hands on the golden sands ; 

And the wanderer from afar 
Sail into the harbour bar 

From the storms of a treacherous sea ; 
When strife shall cease in the perfect peace 

Of the grand, grand Jubilee ! 

ii2 Poems and Songs, 


Through the massive gates of the prison old, 

With its walls so grim and grey, 
Ragged and wretched, reckless and bold. 

Nobody's darling was brought one day. 
Nobody's darling, so wicked and wild, 

Trembling tears in his lustrous eyes ; 
Pitiful, fair as an angel child 

Fallen from Paradise. 

Weary of wandering everywhere, 

Shouting " Mail," " Herald," or '* News " 
Poor little feet, so hacked and bare. 

Were they ever encased in shoes ? 
Keep him here for somebody's sake. 

Beat him soundly, and make him a man ; 
All these curls from his vile head take — 

Crop them as close as you can. 

Somebody's hand has rested there, 

Hard, and horny, and strong ; 
Did nobody breathe a silent prayer 

As they hurried him quickly along ? 
Or was it a curse from the jeering ma^s 

Who watched him leave the haunts of men ? 
Or a wish that many a day might pass 

Ere they saw his face again ? 

Nobody s Darling, — A Parody, 113 

Has he a mother, can anyone tell ? 

A brother or sister fair? 
Is his home as warm as the prison cell? 

Why, that you know is nobody's care. 
Where is his home ? What is his name ? 

Who gives him tattered rags for clothes ? 
Schools him here in the paths of shame ? 

Nobody ! nobody knows. 

Nobody cares and nobody knows — 

No one o'er his cradle smiled. 
Nobody pities his wants and woes ; 

Nobody prays for the orphan child. 
f^Tobody kissed him ere he slept ; 

Nobody taught him how to pray ; 
Nobody soothed him when he wept, 

Tenderly wiping his tears away. 

But far o'er the walls of jasper stone 

A shadow of sadness fell ; 
For the Lord had been sick, and faint, and lone, 

In a dreary prison cell, 
And He bent him down o'er the little one, 

In the hush of midnight still. 
With a void in His aching heart that none 

But nobody's darling can fill. 

114 Poems and Songs. 


In a quiet retreat off the bustling street 

Stands a tidy and neat little cot ; 
Oh ! I see it once more, the bright window and door. 

And the sweet little garden plot. 
There's many a place, decked with elegant grace, 

Which with this I would never compare ; 
One can't say, I know, wherever they go, 

" Tm always at home when I'm there ! " 

Dear grandmother's face at the window I trace, 

By the light of the long summer eve. 
But now she has gone, and her glasses put on, 

To make sure that her eyes don't deceive. 
So cheerful and gay, though her tresses are gray, 

I ne'er saw old age look so fair ; 
When I sit by her side, in the calm eventide, 

I'm always at home when I'm there 1 

And grandfather reads of glorious deeds. 

While softly the shadows prevail ; 
lie has measured the span allotted to man. 

And still he is hearty and hale. 
He tells, soft and low, by the fire's bright glow. 

As he sits in his cosy arm-chair. 
Of the days of old, when his step, was bold, 

Oh, I'm always at home when I'm there ! 

Grandfat/ier's Cottage, 115 

They miss round the hearth the voices of mirth 

That mingled with laughter and song, 
Oft with tears they recall one beloved by all, 

Now safe with the glorified throng ; 
And, scattered far wide, by mountain and tide, 

Hearts oft, 'mid life's turmoil and care, 
Far over the sea, are singing with me, 

** I'm always at home when I'm there ! " 

My grandfather says, though fleeting our days, 

And life's journey soon shall be trod, 
His house firmly stands, which was not made with hands, 

Whose builder and maker is God. 
In some pleasant retreat, where storms never beat, 

No parting our joy shall impair ; 
Sweet communion we'll hold in the City of Gold, 

And all be at home when we're there. 

' ^0 Poefns and Songs. 


Oh, Hsteo, while I now unfold 
The reason why this violin old, 
Though worn, is worth its weight in gold- 
In solid gold. 

For they who oft, in days of yore. 
Have hailed its songs when toil was o'er, 
Will never hear that minstrel more — 
No ; never more. 

And oh ! when Winter's storms were past. 
And Spring around her verdure cast. 
He played the song he loved the last — 
On earth, the last. 

And silently he passed away, 
As softly fades a summer day. 
When glory gilds the sunset's ray — 
His dying ray. 

Cold was his brow, and snowy white, 
'Neath sunny locks of golden light ; 
Death's shadow veiled his eye so bright — 
So darkly bright. 


The Violin Old. 117 

Can time such memories destroy 
As shrine him ? When a gentle boy, 
He played that violin old with joy — 
With rapturous joy. 

Nay ! hearts amid life's busy care 
With love recall the minstrel fair, 
And treasure up a lock of hair — 
Of golden hair. 

No more they mourn him, pale and cold ; 
He needs not now his violin old, 
Who tunes in heaven his harp of gold — 
Of burnished gold. 

1 1 8 Poems and Songs, 


Ella's dress is white to-day, 
Mine is dark as night, 

She has winged her flight away, 
Lost to sense and sight — 

Whisper, dearest, do you miss 

One you once called little Sis ? 

Guard her as in days of yore. 
Angel sister, Eleanor. 

Ella's home is bright to-day, 
Ours is steep'd in gloom ; 

All her flowers are fresh and gay, 
Ours have lost their bloom. 

Does your heart within you burn. 

Swift from glory to return ? 

Come and weep for love once more. 
Angel sister, Eleanor ! 

Ella's harp is tuned to-day ; 

Does she sing her song, 
With her dear eyes turned away 

From the happy throng ? 
Dearest, is your heart so glad ? 
Can you sing when I am sad ? 
Moved with pity as before. 

Soothe us. Angel Eleanor ! 

Eleanor, 1 1 9 

Lay her earthly toys away, 

Ella's race is run — 
Ella's task is done to-day, 

Ella's crown is won. 
Still these eyes, serenely blue. 
Dark, compassionate, and true, 
Wait thy loved ones from the shore, 

Happy angel, Eleanor ! 

I20 Poems and Songs. 


A DOOMED and long imprisoned knight 

Gazed from his turret high, 
And thus addressed the sun, whose light 

Had flooded all the sky. 

** How can thy mocking beams, unsought. 

Illuminate this cell. 
When with thy light she cometh not, 

My child ! my loved Grizell." 

E'en while he spake his prison door 

The jailer opened wide, 
And he embraced his child once more, 

Of all his race the pride. 

" Daughter," he cried, " my life is spent. 

The last long evening fled : 
Ere morn the warrant shall be sent 

That lays me with the dead. 

** Farewell ! my fair, my precious child. 

The hour of death is nigh." 
" O God," she cried, in accents wild, 

'* My father must not die." 

Grizell Cochrane, 121 

Soon dawned the dreadful morning's light — 

Oh ! day of woe and shame ; 
He waited long, that noble knight, 

For death which never came. 

Then echoed through the dreary place 

A footstep firm and light ; 
Once more he saw his daughter's face — 

Her eyes were strangely bright. 

Her ashen lips no longer now 

Surpass the rose in hue, 
The locks that crown her marble brow 

Are dripping wet with dew. 

Her love dispels his gloomy fears — 

What joy to see her nigh. 
And hear her whisper through her tears — 

** My father shall not die." 

Soon rumour told, with 'bated breath, 

A tale through all the land. 
How twice the messenger of death 

Was stayed by one strong hand. 

Twice, while the Herald swift essayed 

To cross yon dreary moor, 
A robber bold his course delayed, 

And seized the scroll he bore. 

122 Poems and Songs. 

How, when that brave knight's friends appealed, 

The Monarch heard their plea, 
And royally the deed he sealed 

Which set the prisoner free. 

Lights glimmered through the ancestral trees, 

The halls with music rang ; 
His children prattled on his knees, 

His kindred danced and sang. 

** Hear me, my Lord,'' a stranger cried, 

" Nor these my gifts decline ; 
Their worth the brightest gems have vied, 

Accept them, they are thine." 

" Oh ! pale, pale grew that knight to see 

The warrants of his death : 
** Is this the hand that set me free ? " 

He cried with faltering breath. _ 

And while they wept, the stranger smiled. 

Her raven tresses fell ; 
" Good heavens !" he cried, and clasped his child, 

His noble, brave Grizell. 

The Fall of the Year. 123 


October winds proclaim the summer past, 

And tear-like raindrops weep her charms decay ; 

Soon winter storms shall blow a louder blast, 
And hoar frost nip the latest flowers away. 

The restless waves are ridged with fleecy foam, 
The withered grove bestrewn with leaflets sear ; 

The reapers bring their toil-worn treasures home, 
And golden harvest crowns the prosperous year. 

Sweet, tender blossoms drooping in the glade, 
Low in the dust their beauteous petals lie, 

And countless warblers, from the forest shade, 
Have fled for shelter 'neath a brighter sky. 

The days and years successive, overhead, 
Have softly dawned, and silently declined : 

Life's fairest charms, in summer beauty spread. 
Shall fade like leaves that rustle in the wind. 

They all must fade, when age, like winter hoar, 
With icy fingers chills the angry blast, 

Then shall we sleep, nor hear the tempest roar. 
And, waking, lo ! life's transient storms are past. 

124 Poems and Songs. 

Oh ! when at mom I lift my dreaming eyes. 
And view the light that death alone can bring, 

Hear in the grove the bird of paradise, 
And hail the dawning of eternal spring, 

What shall I gamer from the years now past ? 

To me life's mom seems bursting into day ; 
Soon shall mild eve her rainbow-mantle cast. 

And darkness chase her pensive light away. 

Regretfully, along the bygone track, 

I view full many a slip, and many a fall ; 

'Twere vain to weep and wish the moment back — 
I may review, but never can recall ! 

Then let me store each moment ere it flies. 
And when life's seasons, like the years, are run, 
• In the fresh mom of fadeless spring I'll rise. 

And hear with joy the Master's glad " Well done ! " 

The Afflicted Child. 125 


Few hearts there are who have no inner room, 

Obscure from mortal sight — 
Some secret cell, immersed in solemn gloom, 

When all around seems bright ; 

Where mirth has hushed her lyre to sing no more. 

And pensive sorrow grieves 
In ceaseless sobs, like waves that beat the shore, 

Or withered autumn leaves. 

While man to man by fellow-feeling bound 

Has sympathy of soul, 
One chord, if touched, shall wake its echoes round 

The earth from pole to pole. 

Then while I tune my lyre, and sing of one 

For whom our souls are riven. 
Its notes may touch some hearts beneath the sun, 

And countless hearts in heaven. 

When first we hailed him wrapped in rosy sleep. 

Low in his cradle laid. 
How little reck'd we thus to love and weep — 

Our sunbeam and our shade. 

126 Poems and Songs, 

Our sunbeam, with his locks of dusky gold. 

His lustrous, dreamy eyes ; 
Our tiny cloud that o'er the azure rolled, 

And darkened all the skies. 

We love the gentle boy, whose angel face 

With dimpling radiance smiles ; 
We love the lamb-like frisk, the genial grace. 

Which charm his baby wiles. 

We mourn, as round his prostrate form we kneel, 

Our suffering one so brave, 
When tiny hands are stretched in mute appeal, 

And none can help and save. 

For thee, dear boy, thy father's brow serene, 

Was furrowed deep with care ; 
For thee, the first bright silver streak was seen 

Amid thy mother's hair. 

Ah ! looks have language words can ne'er express 

How oft, when playing nigh, 
I watch them soothe thy brow with mild caress, 

And tender, tear-dimmed eye. 

When 'neath the shadow of the bending trees 

I pass with thee, dear boy, 
And seek to woo from every freshening breeze 

The rose of health and joy. 

The Afflicted Child, 127 

My heart wells up to tell thee of the Love 

From whence all blessings flow — 
Ten thousand thoughts that lift our souls above, 

And thou canst never know. 

Oh ! had I followed with the crowd at eve, 

Where Jesus' feet have pressed, 
Then had our aching hearts no need to grieve, 

When His dear hand had blessed. 

How oft, like Mary, in the Master's ear 

Our souls outpour their woe \ 
Alas ! dear Lord, alas ! hadst thou been here 

It never had been so. 

O faithless one, the Heavenly Master hears 

His children when they cry — 
Dispel thy gloomy doubts, thy faithless fears. 

Behold ! He draweth nigh. 

Yet shall I pass when Zion's Cloisters ritig 

The dawn of Jubilee — 
Yea ! I shall hear the Master's whisper — " Bring 

The little one to Me." 

128 Poems and Songs. 



Farewell to the city, farewell 

To the bustle, and tumult, and smoke ; 
I've heard a sweet song from the dell, 

And plucked a bright fern from the rock ; 
And the old, old city so dark. 

In the gloom of temptation and care, 
IVe left for the song of the lark, 

And the balm of this pure country air. 

What music surpassingly sweet 

Can the gay woodland songster's excel ? 
How startling the echoes repeat 

What rings through this beautiful delL 
All hail to the streamlet that leaps 

O'er the pebbles, and ripples along 1 
Farewell to the river that sweeps 

'Neath the arches so stately and strong. 

Now, free from all care, would I roam. 

Where the waves are like lambkins at play. 
All spodessly crested with foam. 

And rolling in glittering array ; 
Or pensively watch from the shore 

The SQOwy sea-birds in their flight, 
As, like wandering spirits, they soar 

O'er the dark gleaming billows of night. 

Farewell to the City. 129 

When earth owns a picture so fair, 

O Maker and Lover of all, 
How glorious beyond all compare 

That land where no shadows can fall ! 
Yet none who have gone there to dwell 

Return its delights to relate ; 
They ne'er bid the city farewell ! 

Nor pass through its beautiful gate. 

130 Poems and Songs. 


When loftly fades the silvery light of eve, 
'Mid gathering clouds, dark heralds of the night. 

With joyous step our daily task we leave. 
And gather round the fireside's ruddy light 

Home ! the sweet fount whence purest blessings flow, 
Let earth re-echo with the gentle strain. 

No dearer name when bitter north winds blow. 
And raindrops patter on the window pane. 

Thrice blest are they» though storms tempestuous beat 
Adown the mountains of our native land, 

Who leave their daily toil at eve, and meet 
Around the hearth, a bright unbroken band. 

Where fondly mother looks with joy untold 
On faces radiant with health's ruddy glow ; 

No lamb is missing from the pleasant fold, 
No fair one sleeping in the churchyard low. 

And father tells a tale with looks profound 
Of boyhood days from memory's pages clear, 

While merrily the children prattle round, 
Or raptured listen with attentive ear. 

Home, 131 

Where kneeling low their wants aind cares they bring 
To Him whose eye beholdeth all our ways \ 

Or child and sire with mingling voices sing 
The inspiring psalm or much-loved paraphrase. 

There purest joys outlive the flight of years, 
And brighter glow when other lights shall wane 

There sympathy shall dry the mourner's tears, 
And love begin her everlasting reign. 

And when on life's vast wilderness afar — 
Scattered like leaflets in the sporting wind-^ 

Nought shall efface this picture fair, or mar 
The precious memories it leaves behind. 

O sacred spot, where many toil alone 

In sweet seclusion from the world's rude glare. 

Where queens and martyrs earth hath never known 
Shall win the laurels angel-victors wear. 

Soon life's brief day shall fade like summer eve, 
And o'er the skies night's dusky clouds be driven ; 

Soon shall the reaper bind his golden sheaves. 
And bear them upwards to a home in heaven. 

132 Poems and Songs. 


An atheist wandered forth at noon 

To view the landscape fair. 
When tinted flowers of smiling June 

Were blooming everywhere. 

Sweet perfume from each opening bud 

The cooling zephyrs fanned. 
The setting sun looked red like blood 

Behind the mountains grand 

He turned with rapture to admire, — 
" O glorious orb ! " cried he, 

'' UproUed 'midst clouds of mist and fire, 
I almost worship thee. 

'' On earth diffusing light and force 
From heaven's resplendent frame, 

All hail ! bright sun, the golden source 
From whence all being came. 

** By force the fleecy cloudlets sweep 

Across the azure skies ; 
Thou rock'st the restless waves to sleep, 

And bidst the billows rise. 

Out of the Shadow. 133 

" Effulgent orb ! thy cheering rays 
Shall guide through life's deep gloom ; 

And, ohy when death shall seal my days, 
Thou'lt shine upon my tomb. 

** A hope so bright might well impart," — 

But here his utterance failed, 
And deep within the atheist's heart 

An awful gloom prevailed. 

He saw the clouds, with gathering frown, 

In massive hosts repair ; 
Behind the hills the sun sank down 

With red and angry glare. 

His life was vain, his hopes confined, 

And measured in a span ; 
P'en from that day the atheist pined, 

A melancholy man. 

And soon, alas ! his morbid mind 

No charm in life could see. 
And happiness alone could find 

In perfect misery. 

He grumbled, by his glowing hearth, 

'Gainst winter— cold and hoar — 
And wished, when spring renewed the earth, 
. That it was back once more. 

134 Poems and Songs, 

He loved the hoar frost and the snow — 
When winter's storms were past — 

And longed for flowers — when they were low 
In t>leak November's blast. 

Folk said that o'er his life was cast 

A spell of deepest woe ; 
The children cried, as he went past, 

" There goeth grumbling Joe ! " 

In yonder sweet sequestered spot, 

Beside the verdant glade, 
Where stands an ivy-covered cot, 

Hid by the trees' dark shade, 

A merry farmer toiled and sang 

Among his jovial train ; 
Far up the hill the echoes rang — 

Joe heard the joyous strain. 

" What jarring sounds ! " cried grumbling Joe, 

" They grate upon my ear ; 
I'll forth and change his song to woe. 

And turn his hope to fear. 

"Ha ! friend," he cried, "why sing so loud — 

Look upward to the sky ; 
Behold ! yon threatening thunder-cloud 

Proclaims a storm is nigh. 

Out of the Shadow, 135 

^' Ere morning gilds yon mountains high, 

Thy harvest, golden crowned, 
Low shattered in the dust may lie, 

And rot upon the ground^ 

I' }' 

" Fear not, friend Joe," the farmer said, 

" Oft looking up, I find 
The clouds that blackest gloom overhead. 

Are often silver-lined. 

" To-mprrow's light hath never dawned, 

Its sun hath never set ; 
Why should I ever look beyond 

And live to-morrow yet ? 

*' He who upholds the world of light 

In countless bright array, 
Can put the darkest cloud to flight 

And wake the brighest day." 

" Good night, good night," said grumbling Joe, 

No answer could he find ; 
Upwards he turned his eyes, and lo 1 

The clouds were silver-lined. 

Next morn the lark sang sweet and shrill, 

The sky was bright and clear ; 
The reapers' songs by vale and hill 

Were echoing far and neaf. 

136 Poems and Songs, 

Thus swiftly passed with winged speed 
Full twenty years and more, 

The merry farmer sowed his seed 
And reaped a plenteous store. 

But fortune frowned, and 'neath her shade 
The harvest treasures failed, 

And in the cottage by the glade 
Stern poverty prevailed. 

Part II. 

" Good morning, friend," cried grumbling Joe, 

" I've news for thee this day ; " 
" Say on, that ne'er could bring me woe 

Which makes you look so gay." ' 

*' Then hark," cried Joe, " thou hast no home, 

Thy dearest friends have flown ; 
To-morrow with the poor thou'lt roam, 

Forsaken and unknown.'* 

" And should they spurn my locks of snow, 

And years threescore and ten ; 
Mayhap, friend Joe, I'll richer grow, 

And buy my friends again. 

Out of the Shadow, 137 

'* The eye that marks a sparrow fall 

Within this pleasant glade, 
Beholds his children when they call, 

And sends them gracious aid. 

" And should the whole earth quake and rend 

By mighty thunders riven, 
E'en then I know 'tis mine to spend 

Eternity in Heaven." 

Then silently the atheist eyed 

His friend, — in sore dismay ; 
" What means this wondrous calm ? " he cried, . 

" Tell me the secret, pray. 

" Oft from this summit I survey 

My lands — so broad and fair — 
These gladly would I give this day 

To breathe as free from care. 

"Ah ! friend," he sighed, ''behold my need — 

Blind, groping, aged, and chill ; 
Hast thou a guide, who'll safe me lead 

Adown life's rugged hill ? 

" Yon glorious sun will shed no light 

Across the Jordan's wave, 
Nor guide my wandering steps aright 

Down to the lowly grave. 

138 Poems and Songs, 

" My faltering tongue would fail to tell 
How, all life's morn, I sought 

Earth's fairest flowers ! when evening fell, 
I found that they were naught." 

With hasty step the farmer brought 

His Bible, worn and old ; 
** This gift," he cried, " by blood was bought, 

It's worth hath ne'er been told." 

He took the gift, and homeward hied 

Across the dewy sod, 
And, smiting on his breast, he cried, 

*' Hear me, O Lord, my God ! " 

He sought and found a shelter grand 

From storm or burning sun. 
And well he knows that rock will stand 

When earthly things are done. 

His substance cheered the farmer's board, 
And, where his feet did tread. 

The widow and the orphan poured 
Their blessings on his head. 

When wild winds shook the leafless wood 

With dr6ary, mournful sigh. 
With aching heart the farmer stood 

To see his neighbour die. 

Out of the S/iadow, 139 

** Dear friend," he whispered low, " Tm near 

The groves of endess spring. 
And midst the Jordan's surge I hear 

The bells of heaven ring. 

" My sun is high in glory set. 

So strangely near and far. 
Resplendent on my sight, and yet 

Beyond the highest star." 

They wept for him whose head was crowned 

With gems whose glories beam ; 
They wept while angels crowded round 

To catch a passing gleam. 

They wept, nor heard the voice that rose 

Above the angels' glee, — 
" He gave it to the least of those ! 

He gave it unto me ! " 

140 Poems and Songs, 


ScoTTA, mountainland, rugged and bold and free, 

Peerless in beauty, unrivalled in charms, 
Artists have painted thee, poets have sung of thee, 

Ocean hath circled thee round with her arms. 
Flowers have been wreathed for thee, broadswords un- 
sheathed for thee. 

Dense as thy forests, they flashed in the sun, 
Nations have fled from thee, heroes have bled for thee. 

Fields have been red when thy battles were won. 

Dear to the wanderer*s eyes, Scotia, thy hills arise. 
Braving the tempest, and breaking the wave ; 

Wealth cannot buy for thee sons who can die for thee, 
Scotia, mountainland, home of Jhe brave. 

Scotia, long were thy castles and palace halls 

Battered, through ages of peril and fear ; 
Lowly the ivy leaves cling round their ruined walls. 

Honour their ruins, in dust they are dear — 
Kings have ascended them, heroes defended them. 

Stormed from each fortress with valour sublime; 
Bravely they fought for us, dearly they bought for us 

Laurels that bloom in the wreckage of time. 

Dear to the wanderer's eyes, Scotia, thy hills arise. 
Braving the tempest, and breaking the wave ; 

Wealth cannot buy for thee sons who can die for thee, 
Scotia, mountainland, home of the brave. 

Scotia^ Mountainland, 141 

Heather-crowned mountain home, Heaven anointed thee, 

Sages predicted thy glory afar ; 
First in the battlefield God hath appointed thee — 

Truth is thy buckler and Freedom thy star. 
Brave hearts unite for thee, daring the right for thee ; • 

Wrong still is rampant, and Truth is obscure j 
Let us endure for thee, till we procure for thee 

Peace that is holy, and homes that are pure. 

Dear to the wanderer's eyes, Scotia, thy hills arise. 
Braving the tempest, and breaking the wave ; 

Wealth cannot buy for thee sons who can die for thee, 
Scotia, roountainland, home of the brave. 

142 Poems and Songs. 


For auld sichts, and auld richts. 

The Scotch folk are famed, 
An' O, hoo the e'e lidhts 

When Scotland is named ! 
That name yet is hame yet, 

In lands far awa' ; 
The heart thrills for auld hills 

That tower abune them a'. 

Chorus — The heart sings o' auld things. 
The tried and the true, 
And thinks aye the auld way, 
The auld's aye new. 

The auld freen', the true freen*, 

Tho' tried's aye the same ; 
The auld hoose has aye been 

Our ain dear hame. 
The auld chair, the auld prayer, 

The psalm we used to sing, 
The auld sang, the nicht lang, 

Gart a' the ingle ring. 

Chorus — ^The heart sings o' auld things. 
The tried and the true, 
And thinks aye the auld way, 
The auld's aye new. 

Tlie Auld Aye New, 143 

The auld toon's aye new, 

Gan east or gan west, 
The auld love aye true, 

The auld friend the best ; 
The true yet's aye new yet, 

The auld faith's our stay, 
We'll gang yet and thrang yet 

The guid, auld way. 

Chorus — The heart sings o' auld things, 
The tried and the true. 
And thinks aye the auld way. 
The auld's aye new. 

144 Poems and Songs, 


How can a Scotch lassie unblushingly tell 

A secret she's keepit sae lang tae herseF ? 

Her love micht be great an' the lad micht be braw, 

But whaur is the lass that wad own it ava ? 

Refrain — 'Twad waste ony laddie. 
Ay, maist ony laddie, 
Tae ca' him the flower o' them a\ 

If my laddie were here Fd pawkily say, 
** Wha thocht muckle o' him had little adae;" 
Though, quaitly,^ I ken he's kind hearted an' true. 
But dinna let on that I said it to you. 

Refrain— ^K wice-lookin' laddie, 
A nice-lookip' laddie. 
Aye leal is the laddie I loe. 

Yet sometimes I wunner the laddie can stan' 
A lass wha's aye gien' him the back o' her han' : 
** Come, lassie, an' gree wi' a chap," quo' the chiel' : 
" A kiss I maun hae, or ye'll learn me to steal." 

Refrain — " Sic claverin', laddie, 
Yer haverin' laddie ; " 
Quo' I, " Man, yer head's in a creel." 

The Laddie I Loe, 145 

Yestreen by the burn I was sairly to blame, 
He said he wad leave me an' never come hame ; 
I said that I wunnert he never had gane, 
His bidin' or gaun were concerns o* his ain. 

Fefrain — What says he, the laddie ? 
O wae*s me, the laddie. 
To think he wad leave me my lane. 

" Tm leaven' ye, lassie," the bonnie birds sang ; 
" I'm gaun," quo' the burn, as it rippled alang ; 
I grat, for my love fairly conquered my pride ; 
I leant on his shouther my blushes to hide. 

Refrain — '* My haun to ye, laddie, 
I'm gaun wi' ye, laddie," 
An' soon he will mak' me his bride. 

146 Poems and Songs, 


Hurrah ! for the ball, when comrades all, 

To leisure tiirn apace, 
When the happy theme is a well-matched team. 

And jolly try sting-place. 
Fling book and pen to the wall again ; 

Leave the desk and the dingy street, 
The soft winds blow, and the sun is low, 

And the ball rolls at our feet. 

Now 'midst the ring each sturdy wing. 

And centre guards the prize. 
While backers shout,- and round about 

Their ringing echoes rise. 
Let book-worm boys extol their joys. 

And love-lorn suitors pine ; 
Let fools display their vanity. 

And dotards sip their wine. 


Ye pale, ye slim, and weak of limb. 

Who health and vigour seek. 
To this we owe the healthful glow 

That mantles eye and cheek. 
Come ye who feel the iron wheel 

That grinds the hearts of men, 
Whose eyes explore the mines of lore. 

Or wield the weary pen. 

Football Song. . 147 

Head forward bent, and eye intent, 

Let each adorn his post. 
Let honour claim a nobler fame, 

Though losing be the cost ; 
While all unite, wings left and right, 

In hearty,, steady play. 
Alert and cool, the golden rule 

Is matchless in the fray. 

148 Poems and Songs, 


Truth, o'er our night like a glittering star arise, 
Hearts wait thy dawning as flowers wait the dew, 

Ring, happy bells, from the cloisters of Paradise : 
Wouldst thou be mighty ? the mighty are true. 

True to the friends whom we love, and who love us, 
True as the glance of the sun to the sea, 

True to the echoes around and above us. 
Voice of my beating heart, true, true to thee. 

Tender and true, thou art glowing to gladden us. 

Nature outrivals the triumphs of art : 
Gold cannot cheer us, and praise will but sadden us, 

If thou art chiding, O voice of the heart. 

True to the friends whom we love, and who love us. 
True as the glance of the sun to th^ sea, 

True to the echoes around and above us. 
Voice of my beating heart, true, true to thee. 

Shine deathless Truth, all our wildering wastes explore, 
Shedding thy lustre o'er time and the grave ; 

Awful, majestic, and towering for evermore — 
Grand as the mountain, and free as the wave. 

True to the friends whom we love, and who love us. 
True as the glance of the sun to the sea, 

True to the echoes around and above us. 
Voice of my beating heart, true, true to thee. 

Britain s Address to t/ie Colonies, 149 


Sons of the brave arise, 

Lend us your aid, 
War 'neath yon southern skies 

Draws her red blade ; 
Marshalls her dusky sons 

Over the sand, 
Thunders her mighty guns 

Over the land. 

Chorus — Fierce foes defy us. 

Who will stand by us ? 
Far on yon desert plains 

Briton's must fight : 
Though the death-arrow rains, 

We will stand for the right. 

Canada's Reply. 

Star of the Western Isles, 

We thus reply, — 
Where Right and Freedom smiles 

We will stand by ; 
We o'er the ocean far 

Stretch forth a hand ; 
Ships from our harboUr bar 

Wait your command. 

Chorus — Fierce foes defy us, etc 


150 Poeins and Songs. 

India's Reply. 

Queen of the ^yeste^n Sea, 

Home of the brave, 
Greetings we send to thee 

Over the wave ; 
Never o'er thy domain 

Setteth yon sun. 
Nor shall our valour wane 

Till the field's won. 

Chorus — Fierce- foes defy us, etc 

Australia's Reply. 

Brothers across the main, 

Dear to each heart, 
Bound by a mighty chain 

Seas cannot part, 
'Neath yon hot copper sky 

Brothers we'll meet. 
Where the death-arrows fly 

Brother's we'll greet 

Chorus — Fierce foes defy us, etc. 

The Anvil Song, 151 


Three jolly smiths are we, my boys, 

We sing the whole day long, 
Our hammers make a merry noise 

Upon the anvil strong. 
Their measured beat is music sweet, 

The bellows fires our zeal, 
We're strong as ore, and to the core 

Our hearts are true as steel. 

Chorus — Bang, bang, bang, now the anviFs sounding. 

Bang, bang, bang, while the sparks are bounding. 
Merrily, merrily all day long. 
Listen to the anvil song. 

And while we bravely strike for gold 

With iron strength and might, 
We strike for home like warriors bold. 

For honour, truth, and right 
Would every blow laid falsehood low, 

And raised the truly wise ; 
Thus, 'mid the din, our thoughts within 

Like burning sparks arise. 

Chorus — Bang, bang, bang, now the anvil's sounding, 

' Bang, bang, bang, while the sparks are bounding, 
Merrily, merrily, all day long. 
Listen to the anvil song. 

152 Poems and Songs, 

We envy not the crowns of kings, 

Nor miser's hoarded spoil ; 
We love the joy that labour brings 

The sons of honest toil. 
The joys that thrill to temper ill, 

When daily toil is o'er ; 
And loved ones wait at the cottage gate 

To welcome us once more. 

Chorus — Bang, bang, bang, now the anvil's sounding, 

Bang, bang, bang, while the sparks are bounding, 
Merrily, merrily all day long. 
Listen to the anvil song. 

The Scotchman Abroad, 153 


Oh ! yon's no my ain hills, 
My ain hills, my auld hills, 
Oh ! yon's no the wild hills 

Whaur the heather bells blaw j 
Far across the misty sea, 
Yon are the hiUs for me, 
Bonnie though your hills may be, 

They're nocht like mine ava. 

Oh ! thae's no my ain folk. 
My ain folk, my auld folk. 
On ! thae's no the Scotch folks 

That leeve sae far awa'. 
Sing me an auld Scotch sang, 
Nane o' your foreign twang ; 
This queer glowering kelpie gang 

Are no my folk ava. 

Oh ! this is no my ain hoose, 
My ain hoose, my auld hoose ; 
Oh ! this is no my ain hoose, 

Wi' ivy on the wa'. 
Mine is on a heather knowe, 
Whaur whins and thistles grow ; 
This puir blinkin' ingle lowe 

Is nocht like mine ava. 


154 Poems and Songs, 

There's nae lass like my ain lass, 
My sweet lass, my ain lass ; 
There's nae lass like my ain lass, 

Her brow is white as snaw. 
Sae dinna fash tae blink at me, 
Lassie wi* the dark e*e, 
like my Jean ye'll never be, 

Ye*re nocht like her ava. 

And this is no my ain seF, 
My ain seF, my auld seP ; 
Oh ! this is no my ain sel', 

Sae, freen's, I'm gaun awa'. 
Gie me my Tam o' Shanter, chiel, 
I'll dance ye a' a Highland reel. 
An', foreign fairlies, fare-ye-weel, 

I'm no my sel' ava. 

The Song of the Stove. iS5 



With fingers blistered and soiled, 

With locks dishevelled and dark, 
A batchelor sat on his desolate hearth 

Fanning a feeble spark. 
Blow! blow!! blow!!! 

In misery, hunger, and ire ; 
And, raising his voice right mournfully. 

He sang the dirge of the fire : 

'' Blow ! blow ! ! blow ! ! ! 

Perspiring with every stroke ; 
Blow! blow!! blow!!! 

Till the room is filled with smoke. 
Wood and paper and coal — 

Paper and coal and wood ; 
Till I'm giddy and sad, and sooty and mad, 

And faint from want of food. 

" Blow ! blow ! ! blow ! ! ! 

Who would not pine and fret ; 
With such results ? — a flickering flame. 

And a coffee-pot upset ; 
A hissing sound, a cloud of dust, 

A poker, some flying ware, 
A felt hat banged, an out door slammecl^ 

And a footfall on the stair. 


IS6 Poems and Songs, 

*' Oh ! why do I moura the brave 

Who fell at Hymen's shrine ? 
I hardly fear their terrible fate — 

It; can't be worse than mine ; 
It can't be worse than mine, 

To toil, and faint, and fast. 
Alas ! to live in bliss so long, 

Then woo and wed at last. 

" No ! no ! ! no ! ! ! 

I wont be such a dunce ; 
No! no!! no!!! 

I'll have a stove at once ! 
No smoking wood shall taint my food," 

He cried, with kindling ire ; 
** No thriftless wife shall plague my life — 

No smould'ring, flick'ring fire." 

With fingers tapered and white, 

With smooth locks silken and dark, 
A bachelor turned the tap of his stove, 

Singing as blithe as a lark : 
" Grill, and boil, and toast — 

Toast, and boil, and grill." 
Hark ! how, in strains convincing all. 

He lauds his gas-stove still. 

''Faitlur's Comiti In'' 157 


Six has chappit i' the tooD, 

Lassie ! redd the flaer — 
Rise man, Tarn, ye feckless loon ! 

Quat yer faither's chair ! 
Rin and meet him, baimies rin, 

Haste and bring him ben, 
Mak' him happy as a king 

At his ain fire-en*. 

Six has chappit i' the toon, 
Faither's comin' in, 
Redd the hoose an' set the tea. 
Bring yer faither's shoon ; 
Winter nichts are bleerie, Jean, 
Days are dark'nin' sune. 
Keep the ingle cheerie, lass, 
Faither's comin* in. 

Aft IVe watched for him at e'en 

In the lang gaen days ; 
Waunert 'mong the brackens green, 

Sauntert on the braes ; 
Haste ye ! bring me ben my gOwn, 

I maun smooth my hair ; 
Then, I liket faither weel, 

Noo, a hantel mair ! 

Six has chappit, etc. 

I $8 Poems and Songs, 

Time brings change and trouble, Jean^ 

We hae had oor share ; 
Kindly cheer and lauchin' een 

Lift the load o' care. 
Laddies, ye are growin' fast ; 

Though ye a' were men, 
Mind ye, faither maun be king 

At his ain fire-en'. 

Six has chappit i' the toon, 
Faither's comin' in. 
Redd the hoose, an' set the tea. 
Bring yer faither's shoon ; 
Winter nichts are bleerie, Jean, 
Days are dark'nin' sune, 
Keep the ingle cheerie, lass,^ 
Faith er's comin' in. 

The Northern Whaler, 159 


A STURDY oak is the northern whaler, 
Trusty and true are the lads who sail her ; 
Steady keel when the storms are soundings 
Far o'er the billows swiftly bounding. 
A maiden sings when the waves are rowing, 
A mother prays when the winds are blowing, — 

" Guard, kind Heaven, the northern whaler ; 
Temper the winds for the lads who sail her ; 
Far o'er the deep, where the waves roll free, 
They go to capture the king of the sea.'* 

O'er the northern sea her dark wings spreading. 
She's bold as a hawk, no danger dreading ; 
When the silent stars gleam bright above her. 
The maiden dreams of her absent lover ; 
A mother prays by her downy pillow, 
While the vessel reels as she mounts, the billow, — 

** Guard, kind Heaven," etc. 

Hark to the cry, — " Now my lads, be ready ! 
Stand to your oars, man the long boat, steady ! " 
Over the deep let us bravely steer her. 
Silently, cautiously, drawing nearer. 
See him plunging and careering ; 
Now 'neath the billows disappearing, — 

" Guard, kind Heaven," etc. 

i6o Poems and Songs, 

Grim death hovers round the northern whaler ! 

Oh ! weep for the peril of the sailor. 

Lo ! see the monster swift returning, 

Furiously the ocean churning ; 

Now claim your captive, bleeding, dying, 

High on the reddening wave now lying, — 

'* Guard, kind Heaven, the northern whaler ; 
Temper the winds for the lads who sail her; 
Far o'er the deep, where the waves roll free, 
They go to capture the king of the sea." 

Cheer ! cheer ! trusty lads, the ship we're nearing, 
Gaily and grand with our prize we are steering. 
Bright har|)our lights through the gloom are burning, 
Dear ones await the tars returning ; 
Fond eyes, whos^ light is a love's devotion, 
Watch for a speck on the distant ocean, — 

" Guard, kind Heaven, the northern whaler, 
Temper the winds to the lads who sail her ; 
When his heart beats high, and he brings with glee 
His captive, the king of the rolling sea." 

The Heroine of Home. i6i 


She comes, a charming little mite, 

With features fair and fine ; 
Her soft, round arms are pink and white, 

And clinging like the. vine; 
She claims our homage as her right. 

This little heroine, — 

So fragile and slender. 
With eyes dark and tender. 
Bright angels attend her. 
The heroine of home. 

But soon this heroine's renown 

All leafless books declare, 
Uncumbered by her snowy gown 

She tots from chair to ehair ; 
Her shoes are scattered up and down, 

Her toys are everywhere, — 

Now climbing, behold her, 
'Tis useless to scold her, 
She*ll learn when she's older, 
The heroine of home. 

But see her now, with winning smile, 

Amongst her playmates gay. 
With books of lore, a goodly pile. 

She wends at close of day ; 

1 62 Poems and Songs, 

While mother watches her the while 
Upon her homeward way, — 

When homeward she presses, 
With loose, flowing tresses, 
All hearts she possesses, 
The heroine of home. 

Now household duties lighter grow 
Beneath her thoughtful eye, 

And cares that burden mother 50 
Before her ardour fly ; 

Well pleased her parents see her grow 
A maiden sweet and shy, — 

So modest, retiring. 
Her lovers aspiring, 
Must live on admiring 
The heroine of home. 

And now a blushing bride appears, 
She leaves the dear home hearth. 

Where memory each spot endears. 
Her mother's heart holds dearth ; 

She turns to wipe the silent tears 
Amid their shouts of mirth, — 

Now hoping, now fearing, 
'Mid laughter and cheering, 
The bride is appearing 
The heroine of home. 

The Heroine of Home, 163 

And, lo ! when years have passed away, 

With mother's hopes and fears, 
She stills the noisy group at play, 

And wipes their baby tears ; 
And, nightly bending while they pray, 

Each lisping cherub hears, — 

Or nimbly she*s sewing. 
And pleasure bestowing — 
Oft pleasure foregoing — 
The heroine of home. 

164 Poems and Songs. 


Springing from the mighty hills, 

Rush the tiny mountain rills, 
Singing ever to the river as they roll ; 

So from deep and secret springs, 

'Tis the humble little things 
That our lives, and God's great universe, control. 

'Tis the little songs that cheer. 

Ringing sweetly in our ear, 
Chasing Sorrow's dreamy shadows from our eyes ; 

'Tis the little cares that blight. 

And the little deeds that slight. 
And the little clouds that darken all the skies. 

Like the corn-sheaves from the seeds, 
Little thoughts have mighty deeds, 

Little deeds a mighty influence impart ; 
Oh ! to sow what many reap, 
Over fields and mountains steep. 

And be ruler in the kingdom of the heart. 

Hovering o'er the secret springs. 

Angels guard the little things, — 
At the fountain-head of thought their vigil keep. 

Till their streams are lost above 

In the ocean of His love. 
Who shall rock their restless wavelets all to sleep. 

Loves Empire. 165 


As sunrise, resplendent, o'er mist mountains cold, 
Sheds gleams through the curl-clouds of coral and gold ; 
As blue breaks the mist when the first blush has fled, 
As tints dye the leaves ere the rowans are red ; 
Thus silent, sublime as the herald of day, 
The first dawn of love shot in gleams through the grey ; 
Surpassing in glory the sun when he came, • 
Ere yet to my heart, I had murmured his name. 

How sweet the first evening, when love, like a spell, 
Fell over our path in yon shadowy dell ; 
When first 'neath mine eyelids, coy, drooping, I'd steal 
A glimpse of the love light, thine could not conceal. 
The last tints of autumn were red on the leaves. 
The last reaper stooping to garner his sheaves, 
The last shades of evening had warned us to part. 
When first love had crowned me the queen of his heart. 

I envy no monarchs the sceptres they wield. 
Nor knights of their valour by ocean or field ; 
His love is the crown and the jewels I wear. 
My laurel's the snow-flowers he twines in my hair. 
" Love's Empire," how vast, how transcendant the sway. 
To reign in his heart when my dark locks are grey — 
Love, light in the shadow, and bloom in the blast \ 
My true love, my strong love, my first love, and last. 

1 66 ' Poems and Songs, 


How bright on our vision are gleaming, 

The home-lights of Scotland to-night, 
Where hope for her future is beaming — 

From love — inextinguishing light 
Her triumphs we tell as a story, 

Her battles and deeds of renown ; 
The homes of the true are her glory — 

** God bless them," her honour and crown, — 

They're flashing by mountain and river. 
They're gleaming by heather hills brown ; 

Oh, Scotia ! guard them for ever, — 
The home-lights, thy glory and crown. 

When far from the home of his childhood. 

The wanderer's vision they woo. 
With gleams of thfe heath and the wildwood 

They glimmer and dance on his view. 
When over the ocean he's steering. 

They'll haunt him, wherever he roams. 
Like stars in the gloom disappearing — 

The lights of the dear Scottish homes, — 

They're flashing by mountain and river. 
They're gleaming by heather hills brown ; 

Oh, Scotia ! guard them for ever, — 
The home-lights, thy glory and crown. 

Scottish Home-Lights, ' 167 

These dark hills, majestic, upsoaring, 

Have witnessed, in battle's dread hour. 
Thy brave sons, when dangers were lowering, 

Ai^ arrows fell round like a shower. 
For Scotland each bosom was burning. 

For home they were valiant and brave, 
All honour ye brave, unreturning. 

We'll guard what you perished to save, — 

They're flashing by mountain and river. 
They're gleaming by heather hills brown ; 

Oh, Scotia ! guard them for ever, — 
The home-lights, thy glory and crown. 

Shine home-lights, the hope of our nation. 

While minstrels, retuning the lyre, 
May gain for their songs inspiration, 

And patriots their zeal and their fire. 
Till gleams from her dark rugged mountains 
- O'er errors deep darkness shall glow, 
And^streams from the homes — crystal fountains — 

To earth's utmost limit shall flow, — 

They're flashing by mountain and river, 
Thiey're gleaming by heather hills brown ; 

Oh, Scotia ! guard them for ever, — 
The home-lights, thy glory and crown. 

1 68 Poems and Songs. 


Whaur is he gaiiD, the wean ? 
Toddlin' his wee bit lane, 
Oot in the drenchin' rain ? 
A'bod/s starin'. 

Hoo has he lost his wey ? 
Whaur'Il his mither stey ? 
We'll lend a hand, he's aye 
Somebody's baim. 

Tearfu' een, big an' bricht, 
Watchin' the doozie licht, 
Some heart is wae the nicht, 
Somebody's carin'. 

Gude ken's there mair nor ane,. 
Oot in the rain an' din, 
Wha wad be proud to fin* 
This waunert bairn. 

Cheeks like the bonnie haw, 
Broo like the driven snaw, 
Wha busks him up sae biaw ? 
Come, an' we'll learn. 

The Wee Lost Laddie. 169 


Stockin's neat and harae-wrocht, 
My ! they've haen rauckle thocht, 
He disna want for ocht, 

This winsome bairn. 

Wha dis the laddie chase ? 
'Mang leddies wi' their lace, 
Sees he his mammie's face, 
White an' despairin' ? 

Noo, wi' her hand ance mair 
Straikin' his curly hair, 
He'll near again be puir, 

Mammie's ain bairn. 

Oh ! siccan joy ower ane, 
Here in this warld o*- sin, 
What it maun be aboon — 
Kens nae comparin'. 


Sic joy gars angels sing, 
An' a' the heavens ring, 
When hame at e'en they bring 
Somebody's bairn. 


170 Poe7ns and Songs, 


Dedicated to the 42nd Glasgow Company, Boys* Brigade, connected 
with Montrose Street E.n. Church Mission School. 

All honour to the Boys' Brigade ; 
' The boy who makes the man, 
When secret foes his soul invade 

Is fighting in the van ; 
Shall honour rust, or mould and du^t 

Bedim his glittering shield ? 
Lo ! might and youth, for God and truth, 

Are marshalled on the field. 

Refrain^ — Life is the field, 

Truth is the shield, 

Press till they yield ; 

In the dust shall our foes be laid. 

Danger we'll dare, 

Girded with prayer ; 

Foemen, beware ! 

'Tis the charge of the Boys* Brigade. 

Aloft we hear the blood-stained cross, 

Through tumult, sin, and pain ; 
Lest gain should bring us bitter loss, 

We lose our all to gain. 
Our watch we keep with those who weep, 

Our aim, from line to line ; 
Through shot and shell our foes we quell 

With fire of love divine. 

Refrain^ — Life is the field, etc 

The Boys Brigade, 171 

Yet, on a broader field of thought, 

E're marching days are done. 
Our fiercest battles shall be fought. 

Our kingdoms lost or won. 
When battle's roar is heard no more. 

With heroes brave and true, 
Our king shall hold, on streets of gold, 

His royal, grand review. 

Refrain^ — Life is the field, 

Truth is the shield, 

Press till they yield ; 

In the dust shall our foes be laid. 

Danger we'll dare. 

Girded with prayer ; 

Foemen, beware ! 

'Tis the charge of the Boys' Brigade. 

172 Poems and Songs. 


While ruminating in the night, 
Why wrong still triumphs over right, 
There loomed before my stricken sight 

A spectre hoary, 
' I turned to hear, with sore affright, 

His doleful story. 

A chill fell on the balmy air, 
A sigh, a groan, a stifled prayer ; 
His attitude was blank despair, 

His voice was hollow. 
He bade me come — I knew not where — 

I turned to follow. 

I asked him how his life was spent. 
From whence he came, or where he went. 
If forth on pleasure he was bent. 

Or business purely, — 
'* I come that sinners may repent,*' 

He said demurely. 

** In duty's cause, 'twixt church and state, 
'Tis rising soon and toiling late ; 
In lowly guise at Zion's gate, 

One day in seven, 
I keep an eye upon the plate 

And one on heaven." 

Formality, I73 

He led me to the churchyard mould, 
Where dews at night fall damp and cold, 
I heard him speak of harps of gold 

With consternation ; 
*' 'Tis Death," I cried, " or I behold 

A near relation ! *' 

In trembling fear I made to fly, 
I said, *'Tis hard so soon to die;" 
** Fear not,'* he muttered, with a sigh, 

" That trade's anothers. 
My name's Religion, — Death and I 

Could pass for brothers." 

" Then hark," I cried, *' art thou designed 
The fainting heart to cheer and bind, 
Diffusing forth an influence kind 

On high and lowly. 
Why thus with doleful doom enshrined, — 

Awful, and holy ? 

'* Religion seeketh not her own. 

But others' happiness alone ; 

Free as the winds o'er earth has blown 

Her invitation, 
But thou repellest with a groan 

Of condemnation." 

174 Poems and Songs, 

** Now, first and secondly," said he, 
'* Some think the path to heaven free, 
But they must pay the toll to me. 

Thirdly and lastly. 
They think it glad, Til let them see 

'Tis grim and ghastly 


Time was," he muttered with a groan, 
" When I was heard, as well as known. 
When o'er their deep confusion shone 

My lamp around them. 
But now to seek the world they've gone,- 

May ill confound them. 

" Time was, when, in the house of prayer. 
They sought the Lord, and found me there, 
And now they seek Him everywhere 

Outside the portals, 
As if without me He would care 

For erring mortals. ^ 


** And some there be whom I have taught, 
Who after other gods have sought. 
And to the sanctuary brought 

Base innovations; 
Who Zion*s walls have interwrought 

With decorations. 

Formality, 175 

** Vile instruments of every string 

To her most sacred courts they bring ; 

Some even at socials dare to sing 

Of love's romances. 
Play hide-go-seek, and jinga-ring, 

Or graceless dances. 

" And children — whom I would protect 
From Christmas trees with idols decked, 
Because I dare to intercept, 

Are loth to hear me — 
They treat my name with disrespect, 

Molest, and jeer me. 

" With romping, riotous unrest, 
They mock my woe, my age they jest, 
When in the sanctuary drest 

They sigh for Monday ; 
Yea, weeping, Lord I I must confess 

They laugh on Sunday." 

** Your reasons, sir, are empty rhymes \ 
You change your laws to suit the times. 
For customs, ranks, and distant climes 

They come and go, 
Like marriage bells and vesper chimes, 

Now fast now glow." 

176 Poems and Songs. 

" For such," he said, ** who scrutinise 
My work, profound, with prying eyes, 
Who ask the wherefores and the whys 

Of this my mission. 
For such, let blinding smoke arise 

From dark perdition ! 

" O Lord ! thy flock are not content, 
Their hearts on mischief still are bent. 
Thy servant's acts, with ill comment. 

To task are taken. 
As if the anointed Thou has sent 

Could be mistaken. 

** And unto utter gloom consign 

Their harps and thoughts that are not mine ; 

Blast Thou their corn, make lean their kine, 

Hushed be their laughter. 
And let me live to see them pine 

Forthwith hereafter." 

" O Love," I cried, ** so long withstood. 
So darkly blurred and misconstrued. 
This fiend has changed Thy Fatherhood, 

Heavens face distorting. 
On earth unbound and unpursued, 

His form disporting. 

Formality, 177 

** Grim spectre, go ! thy mask is torn, 
Thy reign is past, thy glory shorn. 
Nor longer shall thy yoke be borne. 

False, cruel hearted ; 
Thy rites, thy fasts, thy prayers I scorn." 

And thus we parted. 

1 78 Poems and Songs 


We are treasured and sought in realms of thought^ 

More vast than the empires of earth, 
Yet, strange to relate, none ever could date 

The day of our wonderful birth. 

But fancy flies far, when never a star 

Revealed God's creation of glory, 
When He called forth the light, and darkness took flight, 

We lived and related the story. 

All over the world like lightning we're hurled. 

Diffusing both pleasure and sorrow ; 
The bond and the free, by land and by sea. 

Await us as light of the morrow. 

As deys of the night refresh and delight 

Each flower in springtime awaking, 
Sweet vigils we keep with mourners who weep. 

And bind up the hearts that are breaking. 

As arrows that fly from the vaults of the sky, 

We rend the heart's secrets asunder ; 
Now still as the breeze, on far southern seas. 

Then loud as the crashing of thunder. 

Words 1 79 

We flatter and please, we rankle and tease — 

We soothe and arouse needless fears ; 
With laughter our rairth shakes the kingdoms of earth — 

With weeping we drown them in tears. 

All things we have spoken, in silence unbroken, 

The mountains shall echo once more; 
We shall doubtless roll back, from our measureless track, 

As the billows return to the shore. 

VVho scatter the seeds of tares or rank weeds, 

Shall reap from them nothing but leaves ; 
Who sow words of truth, in the days of their youth, 

Rejoicing shall bring back their sheaves. 

i8o Poems and Songs, 


Alone she sat in the fading light, 

The sunbeams kissing her locks of snow, 
Like rings of fire on her foreheiad white 

They glitter and they glow. 
She hears at the shutting of day, 
Born sweetly from meadows of new mown hay, 
The voices of children gay 

Ring noisy and mirthful and wild : 
" Oh ! happy," she said, " let them play ! 

I was once a child." 

She walked 'neath the shade of giant trees 

In the light of a loved long ago, 
And an angel whispered on the breeze 

A song she used to know. 
Merry mingling voices are nigh, 
Smiling, a youth and a maiden passed by. 
Tall trees drooping their branches high 

O'er a browti and a golden head. 
" Through sunshine and shade let them love, — 

I have loved," she said. 

Alone she entered a darkened room, 
The moon her silver radiance shed, 

Where knelt, in the deep and shady gloom. 
The mourner of the dead ; 

Experience. . 1 8 1 

She touched her hands, so cold and white, 

And weeping, she kissed them and clasped them tight, 

" I have been weak, and know His might. 

Who giveth and loveth the most ; 
Oh ! weep, I have wept, I have loved," 

She said, I have lost ! " 

" I have lived, I have loved, I have lost. 

Yet found my losing was all my gain ; 
I thought that God had taken most. 

But more did still remain ; 
Yea, I have mourned and wept," she said ; 
** I can break the fountain of tears unshed, 
The heights of happiness I tread. 

And the depths of the deep I sound : 
I have lived and joyed, I have loved, 

I have lost, and found." 

1 82 Poems and Songs. 


Love went out on a holiday tour 

To visit the haunts of men : 
She had hearts to cheer, and wounds to cure, 
And everywhere her influence pure 

Made the old world young again. 
Her fair hand clasped the golden keys 

Of life and bliss complete : 
While the ball of the world, with streams and trees, 
With rivers and hills and rockgirt seas^ 

Was rolling at her feet. 

O lowly love, O lofty love, 

Above all graces crowned ; 
Love makes the old world young again, — 

Love makes the world go round. 

She entered a poor man's cottage lone, 

The roof was thatched and old ; 
And while she tarried, the walls of stone. 
All dank with ivy, and moss o'ergrown, 

Shone out like burnished gold. 
She clasped a hand of iron-might, 

And its gentleness is such, — 
Tis softer than a maiden's, white. 
Dull aches, and pains, and cares take flight 

Before its magic touch. 

O lowly love, etc. 

Love, 183 

The blight of care she stoop'd to trace, 

And smooth each furrowed line \ 
And, lingering with artistic grace, 
She dowered a pale and drooping face 

With eloquence divine. 
And she tuned a voice once harsh and bold, 

Her magic changed it so \ 
Through an aching heart its echoes rolled, — 
Like an angel's touch on his harp of gold, — 
Melodious, soft and low. 

O lowly love, O lofty love. 

Above all graces crowned ; 
Love makes the old world young again, — 
Love makes the world go round. 

Wrath vanishes, like summer rain, 

Before her influence mild ; 
The bars of pride she rends in twain. 
And malice captures, though her chain 

Were the hand of a little child. 
She binds, and who shall break the tie. 

Or who long to be free ? 
Her torchlight in a maiden's eye, 
When thunders roll and> waves break high, 
The wanderer's star shall be. 

O lowly love, O lofty love. 

Above all graces crowned ; 
Love makes the old world young again,— 
Love makes the world go round. 

184 Poems and Songs. 

Her great heart yearns to bear the strain 

That weighs the weary down ; 
And throbs with longing, almost pain, 
For giving is her grandest gain. 

And blessing is her crown. 
Oh ! happy, who while years revolve 

Yon starry heights above, 
When mountains quake and worlds dissolve, — 

Shall dwell with angel minds, and solve 

The mystery of love. 

O lowly love, O lofty love, 
Above all graces crowned ; 

Love makes the old world young again, 
Loves makes the world go round. 

Humility. 185 


There is a gem beyond all cost, 
The heavenly grace I covet most, 
Though of its charms I least may boast — 


For ah ! should fickle fortune deign 
To greet me in her smiling mein, 
'Neath triumph's, arch 'twere vain to feign 


And should she frown, and leave me lone. 
With blighted hopes and friendship flown. 
Then pride, exultant, cries, — " Begone ! 


On loftiest heights of gilded fame, 
In lowliest depths of want and shame, 
Alas ! how few hath known thy name, — 


I found thee not in halls of state. 
Nor in the dwellings of the great. 
Though many tried to imitate 


1 86 Poems and Songs. 

Oft wretched poverty and pride, 
Like sisters twain, walk side by side, 
And openly with scorn deride 


Undaunted, 'mongst the wise I sought, 
Who wondrous depth of knowledge taught, 
I found but vanity, and not 


Alas ! I sighed, I now condemn 
My folly weak ; this priceless gem 
I'll find in angel's diadem, — 

Humility ! 

But Wisdom cried, — "Go search thine heart, 
And know thyself, even as thou art ; 
This knowledge sure must needs impart 


Character, 187 


Effulgent mirror of the soul, 
Reflecting here, amid the strife, 
The living picture of a life 

Whose influence free like billows roll. 

As waters still depict the sky 

In genial summer's smiling mood, 
Or darkening o'er her storms to brood, 

So art thou mirrored in the eye. 

The artist from some rural bower 
Procures a blossom wet with dew. 
And paints each softly tinted hue ; 

But who can paint this fadeless flower? 

Oh ! sacred mission, grand, sublime, 
To mould and perfect, day by day, 
A vessel for eternity, 

Destined to brave the blasts of time. 

Then guard it with a miser's care, 
'Tis better, dearer far than aught 
Which gold thrice purified hath bought ; 

No. gems would ere with this compare. 

1 88 Poems and Songs. 

Ah ! never may we lightly prize 
This heavenly art, but learn to love 
What right and conscience shall approve- 

The approbation of the wise. 

Jesus — the perfect pattern given — 
Enraptured, may our eyes behold \ 
And, gazing on His face, then mould 

A statue for the courts of heaveri. 

And 'neath the radiance of His smile 
Toil on, though slanderous arrows fall. 
And malice shrouds it like a pall — 

'Tis only for a little while. 

For soon with joy the task is crowned. 
And that which pined in dreary night 
Shall pierced hands unveH to light. 

While smiling angels throng around. 

And past the vale of shade and gloom, 
Like spring departing, leave behind 
An impress on the eternal mind, 

Chaste as the budding hawthorn bloom. 

Candour. 1 89 


This maiden's charms, what words can tell ? 
Her smiles attract, and yet repel ; 
The pearls of truth become her well — 

Fair Candour, 

To wear them is her chief delight. 
Encircled on her forehead white. 
Her azure eye is coldly bright, — 

Proud Candour. 

Yet wake her spirit's deep repose. 
Let noble deeds her lips unclose, 
Her blushing cheeks eclipse the rose, — 

Rare Candour. 

But seldom thus her mind's expressed 
In virtue's cause ; she must be pressed ; 
She knows the art of vexing best, — 

Blunt Candour. 

Where fancy builds his castles tall. 
Her words like piercing arrows fall ; 
Like vapours vanish tower and wall, — 

Bold Candour. 

I90 Poems and Songs, 

How strange that some who love her best, 
And freely have their minds expressed, 
Are most ofifended when addressed 

By Candour. 

How swiftly speed the golden hours 
When her opinions all are ours, 
They fall like dew on thirsty flowers, — 

Sweet Candour. 

But who can utter what we feel. 
When, with, a glance as cold as steel. 
She seeks our errors to reveal? — 

Keen Candour. 

Let all who own her charm take heed. 
Nor stray from where her light should lead ; 
She often breaks the bruisbd reed, — 

Cold Candour. 

Where silence wears a crown of gold. 
Stern truth is truth though never told ; 
Tis sometimes better to withhold 

Even Candour. 


Memory, 191 

MEM OR y. 

Celestial star, by whose bright gleams we trace 
A life portrayed in mysteries' dark frame. 
Unscathed by Time — from day to day the same 

Eternal likeness — death can ne'er efface. 

Thou bring'st the past back from the long ago ; 

We said 'twas dead, and lo ! it holds us fast ; 

While ever o*er the gloom a light is cast : 
It is the dawn of memory — fadeless glow. 

How solemn 'tis to die ! we sometimes say — 
To leave all save the past, which needs must go ; 
But oh ! how solemn 'tis to live below — 

To live the silent hours from day to day ! 

How solemn 'tis to rule and guide the will ! 

To live and think, to hope, to act, to hear ; 

To love and hate, to mock and jest, to jeer. 
To speak, and lo ! the words are with us still. 

To rear a structure strong to brave the blast. 
To paint a blossom fadeless and sublime. 
To touch and toil with every passing chime. 

To seal the book for Heaven, and bind it fast 

192 Poems and Songs, 

O Memory ! how glorious to view 
Thy lightning's glance along the gloom of years, 
Revealing deeds of love, and bitter tears 

God counted, while we wondered if He knew. 

But awful doom for some, alas ! in store, 

Who thought the past was dead and buried deep, 
To see the fearful phantom wake from sleep — 

To see it wake, and live for evermore ! 

spite! 193 


Thou'rt aged, but years in swift succession 
Have left on thee but faint impression, 
Thy face still bears its old expression, 

Thine arpi its might ; 
Still foremost in thy vile profession — 

Thou ruthless Spite. 

Though thou so long in conversation 
Hast sought to ruin reputation. 
Thy followers of every station 

When called to fight, 
Would raise the earth from its foundation 

To please thee — Spite. 

The good and wise thou lovest to prey on. 
And villiany thou hast grown grey on ; 
Each faltering string thou'lt harp and play on 

With fierce delight ; 
But few thou hast not had thy say on — 

Thou waspish Spite. 

Yet time and progress thouVt surviving. 
Though kingdoms wane thou'rt still reviving. 
In ever}'body's business diving 

From morn till night ; 
'Mid cushioned pews and pulpits thriving — 

Thou vampire. Spite. 

194 Poems and Songs. 

To happy homes thy gloom importing, 
In halls thy fiendish form disporting, 
Bright youth and beauty's charms distorting, 

With sneer and slight, 
For ever evil deeds reporting — 

Malignant Spite. 

Thy diligence regards no trouble. 

In thy keen search for tares and stubble. 

In quenching every floating bubble 

That greets thy sight \ 
But for thy shame thou shalt have double — 

Thou despot, Spite. 

Illusion, 195 


He thought he lived, yet could not say 

He ever lived a single day, 
Though many a mile on life's rough way 

His faltering feet had travelled ; 
He lingered here 'mid shadows grey. 

Life's mystery all unravelled. 

And little of the world he knew, 

For arrogance had marred his view ; 

The window where his soul looked through 

Was dust-begrimed and bare, 
And few in passing ever knew 

That one was dwelling there. 

He thought he owned a large estate, 

And ranged with those the world called great ; 

The beggar urchin and his mate. 

Who clapped their hands to see 
The flow'rets peeping through his gate. 

Owned more of it than he. 

He thought the world a fleeting show, 
A surging sea of want and woe, 
** Yet lived content to see it so," — 

A gulf of seething sin, — 
Dense shadows flitting to and fro, 

Reflected from within. 

196 Poems and Songs, 

He thought he lived, yet ne'er divined 
The bliss of love and friendship kind, 
The grandeur of a lowly mind, 

The luxury of giving ; 
Poor, wretched, blind, he drooped and pined, 

His life was not worth living. 

He thought of all that he had done. 
Of boasted honours gold had won ; 
Among his flatterers there was none 

Whose friendship was sincere ; 
If death should come, there was not one 

To weep an honest tear. 

He thought he lived ; oh, fleeting shade ! 
How fatal the mistake he made ! 
This mere existence, shall it fade. 

Or live while ages roll ? 
'* Oh, fool ! " how lightly he had weighed 

His never-dying soul ! 


Only. 197 


Only a smile in passing by, 
But its light illumined a tear-dimmed eye. 
Only the clasp of a friendly hand, 
But the sailor felt it far from land ; 
It cheered him many a weary mile, — 

Only a smile ! 

Only a song a maiden sang, 
But ever anon its echoes rang. 
Only a voice that sweetly fell, 
Like the cadence of a silver bell, 
It struck a chord that was silent long, — 

Only a song ! 

Only a thought, which one could read, 
But it blossomed forth in a mighty deed, — 
A passing thought from an unknown pen, — 
But it swayed and ruled the lives of men. 
And the world had wealth it measured not, — 

Only a thought ! 

Only a word, which fell with power 
On a mourner's ear in a darkened hour ; 
But it called forth hope from an early tomb, 
And filled a soul with its fragrant bloom ; 
E'en passive thoughts to life were stirred, — 

Only a word ! 

198 Poenis and Songs. 

Only a tear on a mother's cheek, 
To tell of pity she could not si>eak ; 
But an angel found it, pure and grand, 
Like a gem tossed up on ocean's sand, 
And bore it to his Master dear, — 

Only a tear ! 

Only a prayer breathed soft and low. 
From one grown weary of sin and woe ; 
But a murmuring woke, and a swift reply 
Fell like a star from the silent sky. 
And a heart was free from a load of care,< 

Only a prayer ! 

Charity, 199 


There is a grace divinely pure, 
Whose lustre shall for aye endure, 
Which e'en the poorest may procure — 

Tis Charity. 

This precious gem is never bought, 
It giveth much, yet asketh nought. 
No, nothing but a single thought, — 

Sweet Charity. 

In giving, it possesseth more. 
Its thrice-blessed waters backward pour, 
And break for ever on the shore, — 

Grand Charity. 

The poor are they who feign to scorn 
What angel coronets adorn ; 
They truly wealthy who have worn 

Pure Charity. 

It stills when storms of discord rise \ 
Before its radiance malice flies. 
The guardian angel of the wise, — 

Great Charity. 

200 ./ Poems and Songs, 

It adds to youth a wondrous glow ; 
It grandly crowns the locks of snow, 
And sheds the light,of heaven .below, — 

Bright Charity. 

Its influence sweet shall never end ; 
From direful ilia its beams defend, 
Still changing foe to dearest friend, — 

Vast Charity. 

It wealth and honour shall increase, 
Its morn shall break when suns shall cease. 
And guide thee to the paths of peace, — 

Crowned Charity. 

Mystery, 201 


The mists rolled down from other days 
Are shrouding life and history 

In deep impenetrable haze, 
And mortals call it mystery ! 

O'er summer skies, serene and warm. 

Its airy clouds are creeping ; 
'Tis brooding in the gathering storm. 

And on the ocean sleeping. 

When night is crowned with silence deep, 
It wakes the winds from slumber. 

And echoes when the hills repeat 
The voice of heaven's thunder. 


O mystery ! instruct us why 

We find yet solve thee never ; 
Yet what were life, to live and die. 

If thou wert solved for ever ? 

Lord, does Thy hand with gloom enshroud 
Our hearts when hands are failing ? 

Say, dost Thou roll yon darkening cloud 
When giddy heights we're scaling ? 


202 Poems and Songs. 

God's works are clear, the mists are here, 

Where ignorance is hoary; 
Let truth appear, and far and near 

The gloom's submerged in glory. 

For what is life in age or youth. 
While years are fast revolving ? 

Another pilgrimage for truth, 
Another mystery solving ; 

For ever onward, upward still, 
New heights for aye exploring. 

To find beyond a higher hill 
With mist-clad top far soaring. 

Day. 203 

DA V. 

From mystery sublime, 
Borne, on the wings of time, 
Through deepest gloom of night 
Issues the dawning light, — 
Another day I 

Grey downy clouds uplift. 
Revealing through the rift 
Soft tints of roseate hue. 
Silver, and dazzling blue, — 
A glorious day ! 

Who knoweth whence it came 
In chariot of flame ; 
How mildly overhead 
Its silent beams are shed, — 
A fleeting day ! 

Behold yon sun retire 
*Mid clouds of misty fire. 
While eve is rocked to rest 
Upon thy quiet breast, — 
O dying day ! 

204 Poems and Songs. 

Fixed, as the mountains grand, 
Thy deeds for ever stand ; 
No arm may stay thy flight 
Beyond the wing of night, — 
O solemn day ! 

O whither hast thou flown, 
Bearing to realms unknown 
A freight of joy and woe 
To many here below, — 

The last long day ? 

Farewell ! the die is cast ; 
Yet, by an ocean vast. 
Shall Time's dark waves recede 
And leave me gems or weed 
Another day ; 

Then may we realise 
What hidden light there lies 
In sorrow's darkening shade. 
When death's deep gloom shall fade 
I In endless day ! 

Sympathy, 205 


Come ! like the summer shower, 
Falling on field and bower, 
Raising each drooping flower 

'Mid green leaves peeping ; 
Shedding new life ta all, 
Dwellers in cot or hall. 
Linger where shadows fall, 

God's flowers are weeping. 

Touched by thy magic wand 
Rivers of pride are spanned, 
Hope's dying flame is fanned, 

Death's shades are flying ; 
Breathe in a song or sigh. 
Flash from a tear-dimmed eye. 
Swift on thy mission fly ! 

God's flowers are dying. 

Chord, that was lost so long. 
Found in an angel's song, 
Still o'er the strife of wrong 

Plaintively pleading ; 
Kindling beneath the wave 
Gems in an ocean grave, 
Stooping to help and save 

Where love lies bleeding. 

2o6 Poems and Sonzs. 


Wealth of the worlds above, 
Sister of mighty Love, 
Soar ! thou immortal dove, 

Who shall restrain thee ? 
Lighten the darkened hearth, 
Call forth its gloom to mirth, 
Stay not, for heaven and earth 

Cannot contain thee. 

Daystar of Paradise ! 
In erring hearts arise, 
Where light in shadow lies 

Pure iis God's river ; 
O'er all our sorrows brood. 
Bind us in brotherhood. 
Tender, and true, and good. 

Keep us for ever. 

Thoughts of God. 207 


God's thoughts ! how vast, how pure they flow 

In streams of love to all below ; 

Their heights my loftiest dreams transcend, 

Their depths I cannot comprehend ; 

Yet dimly, darkly, may I view. 

And upward still their theme pursue. 

Earth hath a grand unbounded store, 

Where all may know and love Him more ; 

If on the humblest flower I think 

That blooms beside the river's brink, 

And trace it to its source long ere 

Our Maker's hand had placed it there. 

How wonderfully its leaves are wrought. 

With wisdom and majestic thought. 

If o'er earth's vast domain I fly, 

And view the deep with wondering eye, 

God's voice hath thrilled the restless wavesy 

His hand hath decked its mystic caves 

With pale-pink shells and gems of light. 

Whose rays ne'er dawned on mortal sight ; 

Yet liquid sea and solid land 

Lie in the hollow of His hand ; 

By Him the mountains all are weighed. 

His voice the billows, proud, hath stayed. 

If higher still my thoughts upsoar. 

When skies with night are curtained o'er. 

2o8 Poems and Songs, 

And soaring high, o'er mountains far, 

I roam, companion of the star, 

Where circling suns and spheres illume, 

And new worlds break eternal gloom. 

Mere human knowledge fades away 

Like mist before the rising day. 

Lost in deep mystery, I cry, — 

" How glorious, how grand, how high, 

God's thoughts are countless, — they are more 

Than sand on ocean's surf-beat shore ! " 

Oh ! strangely sweet and solemn morn 

That first beheld creation born, 

When crystal skies, — ethereal blue, — 

First wept their sympathetic dew ; 

When angel-visitants drew near. 

And sang in accents sweet and clear, — 

" This vast creation grand and fair 

Is filled with treasures rich and rare, — 

Of birds that fly, and things that creep. 

And fishes of the briny deep. 

Our Lord much thought and care hath given 

To all beneath the spreading heaven ; 

His eye will mark a sparrow's fall. 

He'll hear the ravens when they call. 

Yet hath He still a higher care 

Than all things born of earth and air, — 

'Tis Man ! strange tenant of the clay, 

Yet heir of immortality ! 

Thoughts of God, 209 

His soul shall live through endless day 
When earth and seas have passed away. 
For him was spread yon glowing skies, 
For him the hills and mountains rise, 
For him the southern breeze shall blow. 
For him the winter's frost and snow. 
For him the sea from shore to shore, 
For him the birds their songs outpour. 
For him the light, for him the shade, 
For him the fruit and flowers were made ; 
By day the sun his path shall cheer, 
The moon by night gleam soft and clear, — 
And God's all-seeing eye shall keep 
A tireless watch on nature's sleep." 

O language ! leave not unexpressed 
The grief that wrung the Father's breast. 
When, by the serpent's art beguiled. 
He saw His alienated child, — 
His noblest work, His dearest care, — 
Blighted and blurred, like picture fair. 
Which time, and toil, and thought had won. 
Thus left by falsehood, lost, undone ! 

Arise ! O sinful man, arise ! 
Leave the fair groves of Paradise ; 
Hear ye the voice of Justice cry, — 
" The soul that sins shall surely die ! " 

2IO Poems and Songs, 

Lord, Thou art come the lost to seek, 
Loving, gentle art Thou, and meek, 
Pure as the dew which flowers inhale, 
Fair as the lily of the vale. 
Prince of the world, of joy and light, 
Wherefore roam in this vale of night ? 
Why dost thou wander, sad and lone. 
Far from the gates of jasper stone? 
Who of such wondrous love may tell ? 
Leaves He His throne with man to dwell ? 
Loves He them in their guilt and shame ? 
Loves He them though they spurn His name? 
Soothes their sorrow and heals their woes ? 
Their suffering and their need He knows. 
Loves them still though they love Him not. 
Loves them still though His life they sought ; 
Away with Him, away they call. 
Take Him away to the judgment hall; 
He loves them in their guilty pride. 
Prays for the hands that pierce His side ; 
Well might the earth's foundations shake, 
God hath died for His children's sake ; 
Well might the sun be draped in gloom, 
Christ hath lain in the silent tomb ; 
Well might the angels shout, for He 
Captive had led captivity. 

Arise, O ransomed man, arise. 
And claim thy long lost Paradise. 

Thoughts of God, 211 

No flaming sword of justice waits 

Thy entrance through the gleaming gates, 

But Mercy stands, with hands outspread, 

To place a crown upon thy head. 

Come, weary one, why longer roam ? 

Thy Heavenly Father calls thee home ; 

Though in His pleasant folds recline 

Peaceful and safe the ninety-nine. 

The lamp of love still brightly burns ' 

Till the lone wanderer returns ; 

For still He mourns, by night and day. 

O'er one He loves that went astray, 

And left behind an aching chill, — 

A void, — no angel songs can fill. 

Lord, what are all Thy works of grace, 

In fleeting time, or boundless space? 

Lo, at Thy feet enrapt I fall. 

This is the grandest thought of all, — 

This thought transcends my loftiest dream, — 

This thought shall be an endless theme. 

When from this vale I upward fly. 

And dwell beneath a brighter sky. 

When with the white-robed throng above 

I sing the wonders of His love. 

As travelling up some mountain side 
I walk with Wisdom for my guide, 
The summit gained, with wondering eyes 
I view far loftier heights arise, — 

212 Poems and Songs, 

Precipitous heights, by feet untrod. 
Thus are to me the thoughts of God, — 
Unfathomed, boundless, pure and grand. 
Far in the vale of thought I stand. 
Nor dare to lift my dazzled gaze 
Where high untraversed mountains raise 
Their awful heights, o'er whose dark brow 
Eternal morn is dawning now. 

Immantiel, 213 

(God with Us.) 

Had'st Thou been here, dear Lord ! had'st Thou been here ! 
O piteous cry from hearts a-weary grown ! 
Thou would'st not thus have tarried had'st Thou known, 
Nor had we wept, and borne this cross alone 

Had'st Thou been here ! 

Had'st Thou been here, with gentle human hands, 
To heal the sick and soothe the fevered brow, 
Our hearts had not been sad and empty now, 
So strong, so pitiful, so tender Thou,-T- 

Had'st Thou been here ! 

Had'st Thou been here, we had not lost our way 
Like sheep without a shepherd in the night ; 
Thy hand to guide us, and our home in sight, 
Then e'en the darkness had been strangely bright, — 

Had'st Thou been here ! 

Had'st Thou been here to hush the waves of strife, 
The sun had not gone down in sad surprise 
Upon our wrath, for, loving, Vatchful, wise, 
Thou would'st have looked with thy kind grieving eyes, — 

Had'st Thou been here I 

214 Poevis afid Sofigs. 

Had'st Thou been here, dear Lord ! had'st Thou been'here 1 
Mine eyes were blind, and, lo ! I see once more 
His foot has crossed the threshold of the door. 
O had I known Thee ! Thou wast here before, — 

Lord, Thou art here I 

Yea, Thou art here ! and, kneeling at thy feet. 
Here let me ever learn I cannot speak ; 
Thy voice falls on mine ear subdued and mock, — 
My Lord ! my God J Thou wast not far to seek, — 

Thou, Thou art here ! 


My Home, 215 


Tm building here my home, 

I build it every day ; 
'Twill shelter me when earth and sea, 

And stars have passed away. 

My home when shadows fall, 

And rains weep through the night ; 

When care and age have whet their rage, 
And the almond tree is white. 

When night falls swift and dark, 
And songs are heard no more ; 

When fears awake, and strong bars break, 
And stormy waters roar. 

When the silver chord is loosed 

By fingers pale and chill ; 
When mourners meet in the silent street, 

And weary wheels stand still. 

Oh ! then my home must stand 

Firm on the solid rock, 
Full strong to brave the surging wave. 

And stem the billows' shock. 

2i6 Poems and Songs. 

Tis mine to make it glad, 
Or drape its walls in gloom ; 

A prison b^e, a palace fair, 
Or a dreary haunted room. 

Oh ! sacred, solemn task, 
To pile it stone by stone ; 

To close the door for evermore 
And enter in alone ! 

^^She hath Done what She Could!' 217 


What is better than titles, or laurels of fame ? 
What is richer than honours that princes may claim ? 
'Tis the praise of our King when the battle is o'er, 
And the sound of the bugle re-echoes no more : 
And He says, — " Ye have done what ye could ! " 
Sweetest praise, — ** Ye have done what ye could ! " 

Is it only a child who relinquished her play. 

To sit by the couch where a sufferer lay ? 

Or bring her sweet flowers from the green woodland shade ? 

Or sing of that land where the flowers never fade ? 

Ah ! He knew ** She had done what she could ! *' 

Kind and true, " She had done what she could ! " 

Or it may be a sister — in life's morning glow- 

Whose youth had been dimmed by a shadow Jof woe ; 
Yet bravely, for those dear and loved, she hath striven 
To woo them to Jesus and mother in heaven : 
He exclaims, — " She hath done what she could ! " 
And proclaims, — " She hath done what she could ! " 

Or a mother, who often has toiled here, and wept 
In the still midnight hour when her little ones slept ; 
What these frail hands accomplished none ever have known, 
But her Saviour before men and angels will own 
And avow, — '* She hath done what she could ! " 
Crown her brow, — *' She hath done what she could " 

2i8 Poems and Songs, 

Oh ! blessed for ever, her warfare is past, 

The last shall be first, and the first shall be last ; 

And her heart from its sorrow shall break forth and sing, 

And her day star arise as the dawning of spring 

When she hears, — " She hath done what she could ! " 

Dry her tears, — " She hath done what she could ! " 

''Master, is it I?'' 219 


"And they began to be sorrowfal, and to say unto him, one by one, 
Is it I ? and another said, Is it I ? " Mark xiv. 19. 

Whence those tears of bitter woe ? 
Who hath grieved the Master so ? 
Who among us — held so dear — 
Hath betrayed His footsteps here? 
Who, of all, I wondering cry, — 
Jesus, Master, — " Is it I ? " 

Who hath often vowed like me 
All to leave and follow Thee ? 
Gladly share Thy humble lot : 
Have I e'er that vow forgot ? 
Could I, Lord, Thy name deny ? — 
Jesus, Master, — " Is it I ? " 

Who hath seen Thee borne along 
By the mad, tumultuous throng ? 
Seen these pierced hands outspread. 
Crowned with thorns that gentle head : 
Who hath sinned, that Thou should'st die ? — 
Jesus, Master,—" Is it I ? " 

Can it be, for all Thy shame, 
I am free from spot or blame? 

220 Poems and Songs, 

Who is loved, for Thou wast scorned ? 
Who may joy, for Thou hast mourned ? 
Who may live, for Thou did'st die ? — 
Jesus, Saviour, — " Is it I ? '' 

Who may feed Thy lambs for Thee, 
Shepherd, King of Galilee ? 
Who may go where strong hearts fail ? 
Who may Satan's hosts assail ? 
And each force of sin defy, — 
Conquering Saviour, — " Is it I ? " 

Who shall still thy footsteps trace 

O'er the bounds of time and space ? 

Who eternal life shall gain, 

And a starry crown obtain 

Far beyond yon changing sky ? — 

King of Glory !— " It is I ! " 

Thoughts Framed in Shadow, 221 


If angel eyes shine through the blue 
With wider range and keener sight, 
I know of one whose vision true, — 
Though lately lost to earthly view, — 
Looks down upon me here to-night. 

If angels feel for human care. 
And pity wounds they cannot heal, 

One throbbing heart each woe will share, 

One angel hand, divinely fair, 

Clasps mine to-night, — if angels feel. 

If angels hear us when we pray. 
And speak in tones familiar, dear^ 

One, listening now, not far away, 

In tender accents stoops to say, — 
"Why call me, sister? I am here !" 

If angel minds in dreams recall 

Earth's flowers, 'mid groves of fadeless spring, 
When songs re-echo through the hall. 
O'er one fair brow a shade will fall. 

With strains of songs we used to sing. 

222 Poems and Songs. 

If angels take beyond the tomb 

What most we love and think of now. 
An angel, 'mid the twilight gloom, 
Is gliding through my little room, — 
An angel's lips have pressed my brow. 


The Lord zuill Provide. 



Hark ! from an angel band, 

Sweet strains of joy untold 
Re-echo through the land 

From harps of burnished gold ; 
To mournful hearts new hope they bring, 
And o'er earth's vast domain they sing, — 
Jehovah ! Jehovah- Jireth ! 

Far on the lonesome wave 

The fisher's bark is borne ; 
Say, shall his efforts brave 

Be crowned with joy ere morn ; 
Shall He who clothes the lilies fair 
Unanswered leave his children's prayer ? — 
Jehovah ! Jehovah-Jireth ! 

With head bent down with woe 

Behold the widow weep, 
As gently to and fro 

She rocks her babe to sleep. 
Oh ! who shall raise the drooping head, 
And give the helpless children bread ? — 
Jehovah ! Jehovah-Jireth ! 

224 Poems and Songs. 

Angelic choir, sing on, 
Sing all the night away ; 

Sing till the morning's dawn 
In streaks of silver grey. 

Till echoes wake in worlds unknown* 

From brilliant walls of jasper stone, — 
Jehovah ! Jehovah-Jireth ! 

In Loving Memory of J, J, M'L, 225 

5n Xoping /iDemors of a l^oung poetess, 


When hands unclasp, why marvel if we weep ? 
And forms beloved have vanished from our sight, 

When none can wake the dreamer fair from sleep, 
Nor lend to closing eyes the spirit light, 
Which, going out, left all thy world in night. 

Why marvel if the fountain of our tears 
Is frozen when the bitter blast is o'er ? 

When solace falls unheeded on our ears. 

And sympathetic chords, which thrilled before. 
Like waves, roll backward from a silent shore. 

The last farewell to wake and call to mind. 

While tears afresh with each remembrance start 

O'er care and thought, like clinging ivy twined ; 
Which death, in passing, rudely rent apart. 
And rending, almost broke the living heart. 

Then know, sad heart, through paths thou hast not 
God leads thee upward to His mansions grand ; 

Who made the heart's affections like His own. 
Solves all His children cannot understand. 
And tunes the lyre of life with master hand. 

226 Poems and Songs. 

Then think amid thy sorrow, what it cost 

The God who loves thee, all these bitter hours 

To wound and grieve, — because He loves the most 
And stoops to raise from earth His drooping flowers- 
Who saw their blight with keener pain than ours. 

Perfect Peace. 227 


Retire, thou weary one, a little pace, 
Where shadows never veil the Saviour's face ; 
Rest thee within thy heavenly dwelling-place 

In perfect peace. 

In this dear home no terror dark appals, 
No dreary night jar from the roof-tree calls ; 
Naught ever dwells within these crystal walls 

But perfect peace. 

Without bright lightnings gleam, and rains beat fast, 
Full many a blossom withers in the blast ; 
Yet here I linger till the storm is past, — 

In perfect peace. 

O sacred, solemn rest, my Lord is here ! 
My guests are angels from the heavenly sphere ; 
No jarring sound of tumults greet my ear, — 

All, all is peace. 

My heritage unscathed by time's decay, 
What earth can never give nor take away. 
In glory breaking sorrow's twilight grey, — 

Peace, perfect peace. 

228 Poems and Songs. 


i WANT to be an angel, 

But, oh, I cannot stand, 
Arrayed in pearly whiteness, 

And crowned with jewels grand ; 
I would be often longing 

For friends I used to know, 
Who cared for me, and loved me, 

When I was here below. 

I want to be an angel, 

A guiding star of light ; 
But must the angel minstrels 

Play morning, noon, and night? 
And tell me, would they chide me, 

'Mid bowers of fadeless spring, 
If they should hear me singing 

The songs we used to sing? 

I want to be an angel, 

So mighty and so free ; 
Yet can we praise or blame them, 

Or can they fall like me ? 
Say are they crowned as victors. 

Who never have been tried ; 
Or do they love the Saviour 

Like those for whom He died ? 

/ Want to be an AngeL 229 

I want to be an angel, 

If angel hearts combine 
The lowly and the lofty, 

The human and divine ; 
If change and death restore me 

Some faces lost and dear, 
With glory all before me. 

And Heaven I had here ! 

230 Poems and Songs. 

LO VE'S B 0UN7 Y. 

Tears are falling so hot and fast, 
Life is shadowy, full of pain, 

Love, thy giving is overpast. 
Tired of sowing in weeping rain. 

Tired of giving and gaining naught, 
Living, loving, showering free. 

Wealth of bounty and wealth of thought. 
Pain and shadow were naught to thee. 

Hands have sown, but they long to reap. 
Minds grow weary of plans to give. 

Who is tired, too tired to sleep ? 
Love that giveth her life to live. 

Sown in shadow and falling rain. 

Days have vanish'd in months and years, 

Others gamer the golden grain. 
Tears they bring to thee, only tears. 

Pearly shells on the sandy shore. 

Showers of flowers on the verdant earth. 

Floods of song when the birds upsoar, 
Wealth of melody, life and mirth. 

Loves Bounty, 231 

Myriad leaves on the branches high, 

Bud to blossom, and bloom to fall, 
Countless stars in the nightly sky. 

Love the meteor that lit them all. 

Glistening hoar-frost, and crystal shower, 

Deep pulsation of ocean breast. 
Varied shading on sky and flower. 

Ceaseless motion and perfect rest, 

Wealth in nature, and wealth in art, 

Sculptor's chisel, and poet's pen. 
Wealth of Love in the human heart, 

Wealth of thought in the minds of men. 

Lord ! thou givest and lovest most — 

Living, loving, and showering free. 
Buying love at the highest cost. 

Life to live is to give like Thee. 

Earth and ocean thy love proclaim. 

Sigh it, whisper it, far and near, 
Cease not sowing in weeping rain. 

Love is Heaven, and Heaven is here. 

232 Poems and Songs, 


Fair flower, the Saviour loved below, 

How beautiful thou art, 
With drooping crest of spotless snow, 

Meet emblem of His heart. 
High thoughts, that bring the Father nigh 

When tried and pressed to yield, 
The Saviour found, when passing by 

The lilies of the field. 

Our Father formed that beauteous crest 

So marvellously fine ; 
No king, in courtly splendour drest, 

Wore ever robe like thine. 
Yet thou art passing as a dreapn. 

Thy leaves how swiftly blown ; 
At morning, blooming by the stream — 

At evening, thou art gone. 

Hast thou no care that thou dost wear 

That look of sweet content ? 
Hast thou no fear thy stem so fair 

By ruthless storm be bent ? 
Say ! dost thou scan, with anxious eye. 

The blue dome overhead ? 
Or watch a shadow in the sky. 

With weary, aching dread ? 

The Lily. 233 

Bloom fair, God whispered from above, 

By stream and meadow wild, 
And bear the message of My love 

To every weary child : 
For what to me the fairest flowers 

Which Mine own hand hath made, 
If pining, 'mid the freshening showers, 

One human flower should fade ? 

Sweet, fragile lily, bending meek 

Above the dewy sod. 
High honour thine on earth to speak 

The language of our God ! 
The love that thrills the Father's breast, 

Its pathos and its power, 
All language leaves still unexpressed 

Embosomed in a flower ! 


234 P 06711 s and Songs. 


Strong love, that dared for man to die, 
That stooped so low, and soared so high, 

The world in wonder paled. 
When He o'er Calvary's mount unfurled 
Redemption for a dying world. 

And won when all had failed. 

Vain from Mount Sinai's rugged steep, 
God uttered, in the thunders deep, 

The law by justice planned ; 
When Love His majesty concealed, 
We saw His arm, in flesh revealed. 

And clasped the human hand. 


, Vain, angels bending o'er the lyre, 
Struck chords of deep poetic fire 

To wake the soul from sleep, 
But Jesus wept, and bending low. 
But touched the chord of human woe. 
We wept to see Him weep. 

Vain shall man's prayers and works arise. 
Or incense roll along the skies, 

Or tears for sin atone. 
Our hearts condemned us, while He stood 
For Love's eternal brotherhood, 

And bore our sin alone. 

Redemption, 235 

O depth of grace, the gulf is spanneil, 
We touched the nail-prints in his hands, 

When heart and lips were sealed — 
Gazed on his face with dumb surprise, 
And saw, with wondering, weeping eyes, 

Our God in man revealed. 

What shall I render to my God, 
Who here for me the wine-press trod, 

Who lived and died for all ? 
rU take the cup, by grace supplied. 
Bequeathed to sinners when he died, 

And on His name I'll call. 

ril take the cup, I'll drink and live. 
For. only they who take can give 

To thirsting hearts around. 
Straight through the blinding mists of doubt 
ni heavenward steer, while angels shout — 

Was lost, and now is found. 

236 Pceins and Songs. 

5n loving IRemembrancc of /IDr* Ibugb IRamsai?, 



mCMi 5ieb 5mmbcr 12. 1883. 

Farewell, dear friend ! the night is past — the weary night; 
Elern&l morn around hath cast her hallowed light. 
Thou hast received thy rich reward — from suffering free : 
Why should we murmur when the Lord hath need of thee? 

Spring's voice shall wake the flowers, long dead, in wood 

and vale, 
And many a ship o'er ocean spread her snowy sail. 
And seek from yonder foreign strand our native shore, 
But we shall clasp thy loving hand on earth no more ! 

Veiled from our eyes, we see not now thy robes so fair. 
Nor yet the crown that decks thy brow with jewels rare ; 
Though bright as stars that shine above in night's dark 

We know thy voice, thy smile, thy love, are still the same. 

Still, here the influence of thy soul is grand and free, — 
From whence far circling eddies roll o'er land and sea ; 
With joy thou'lt view from heaven's beach for evermore. 
Their glory breaking when they reach the shining shore ! 

In Meinoriam, 237 

5n jflDemoriam* 
Eleanor Hnberson Darling* 

Scarce past the morn of life below, , 
Yet safely past my pain<and woe ; 
Why weep, dear friends, I long to go, 

I'm weary ? 

Scarce risen till sets life's glowing sun ; 
Yet strange, I know my task is done, 
The battle's fought, the victory's won,— 

Tm weary. 

I'm weary, weary, do not weep ! 
If shades at morn have fallen deep, 
In Jesus let me fall asleep, — 

I'm weary. 

From passing scenes of earth and air. 
From vaunting vanity and glare. 
Asleep from pain, asleep from care, — 

I'm weary. 

No more to languish in the night. 
With bright eyes longing for the light ; 
For victor's crown and angel's might, — 

I'm weary. 

238 Poems and Sofigs, 

For that dear Saviour, who, unseen, 
Through life my Counsellor has been. 
To hear, when naught shall intervene, — 

Vm weary. 

Land of the real and the true, 
, Where smiling skies of living blue 

Drop down for faded flowers their dew,— 

I'm weary. 

For broader light and vision clear. 
With Christ in glory to appear. 
Where angel harps are hushed to hear, — 

I'm weary. 

Birthday Thoughts, 239 


The days growing colder 

Are making me older, 
The brown leaves in mellow wreaths drift ; 

This sweet grey-eyed morn, — 

The day I was born, — 
My natal October the fifth. 

My mother, recalling 

That lime of leaves falling, 
Time's fleetness can scarcely believe ; 

Is this grown-up maiden 

The babe who was laid in 
Her bosom that Saturday eve ? 

Since then who can number, 

In waking or slumber, 
The blessings that hallowed the years, — 

From weak infant wailing. 

Life's mystery unveiling, 
Through sunshine and shadow and tears. 

Life crowned with affection, 

O royal reception 
That ushered my soul to the light ; 

While over the world 

Bright angels unfurled 
The star-spangled banner of night. 

240 Poems and Songs. 

Oh ! had I the day-dreams, 
The stars and the moonbeams, 

The blue days that smile from the past ; 
Had I for adorning. 
Some flowers my scorning 

Have scattered like leaves in the blast. 

Sweet voices are ringing, 

Sad memories bringing 
Of days overshadowed in night ; 

When rose-tints had faded, 

And bright eyes were shaded, 
And loved ones had vanished from sight. 

But what am I gaining 

By bitter complaining 
O'er treasures I never can save, 

While time, ever stealing, 

My destiny sealing. 
Bears all on its pitiless wave. 

Each year in rotation 

Awakes contemplation, 
While life lies in solemn review ; 

Are hearts any brighter, 

Is care any lighter, 
Because I was given to you ? 

3 tl05 DIS Ti7 Oai 




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